In the Beginning
by Patricia Louise
Summary: How did Auggie get from a devastating injury to the funny, confident, rock-solid blind guy we know and love? It wasn't easy ...
1. A Rude Awakening

This was a hard chapter to write. Well, not hard in the beginning, but further research left me with a quandary. The flash of an IED is probably not strong enough to have caused PFB (Permanent Flash Blindness). Any other cause would mean an extensive re-write. It's fiction, so after much deliberation, I've decided to go with PFB. I don't like not being 100% accurate, but I'm also a tad lazy at times. I'm going with what I've written even if not accurate. Don't call me on it too much 'K?

My appreciation to Resourcess7 for her comments and corrections.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Covert Affairs, Auggie or Annie. I do like to play with the characters in my mind. I do own Alan, and Dr. Perkins and my story.

**A/N - I've modified the cause of August's blindness. Finally found something real that works without extensive rewrite. Only needed a few words here and there.**

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First Lieutenant August David Anderson slowly became aware of his surroundings. He had the worst headache of his life. An involuntary groan escaped his lips. As if in a tunnel, he heard voices in the background; slowly they became louder and more distinct.

"Anderson's coming around," a voice to his left said as a firm hand touched his shoulder.

"Wh-where am I?" 1Lt. Anderson mumbled.

"Field hospital. You've been out for a couple of hours. How do you feel?"

1Lt. Anderson moved his arms and legs without pain; then took in a deep breath, noticing some discomfort in his ribs. He moved his hands to his face and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to chase away the grogginess. His skull seemed to scream at the pressure, and he groaned weakly at the pain.

Firm hands removed his hands from his face. "Anderson?"

"I've got the mother of all headaches," he said with a dawning awareness that his eyes weren't registering a thing.

"You've got a concussion, but you should be up and around in a few days, and back on duty in a week or so."

"Concussion. Had 'em before, but why is this one not letting me see?" An edge of panic had taken over. Now in fight-or-flight mode, he swung his legs over the edge of the cot and sat up in one quick motion. August immediately regretted that action; his stomach churned and he convulsed with the dry heaves. Two sets of firm hands laid him back down on the bed. His powerful grip latched onto the arms controlling his. For the first time in his military career, 1Lt August David Anderson knew terror—pure, unadulterated, ass-kicking terror – and despite his training, this time he was unable to harness his fear into razor-sharp mental focus. Panic took over, and he found himself taking quick, trembling breaths.

"Calm down, soldier; that's an order!" From somewhere above the firm voice of authority commanded him.

He relaxed his grip a bit, but his panic was not abated. "What happened?" His fingers were pried off the wrists they were clutching, and fell to his side.

"What do you remember?"

"Huh? … I remember getting out of the humvee with Specialist Long; we were going to check on a dead dog alongside the trail for a possible IED. Next thing was Long flying back at me and a bright flash." An involuntary shudder passed through August's body as he recounted the last thing he remembered. "How's Long?"

"He's on his way to Baghdad; then on to Germany and Stateside. His status is 'iffy'." There was a brief pause and a definite click from somewhere in front of August's face. "Do you see this?"

"NO!"

"How about this?"

August shook his head. "What's wrong with my eyes?" He asked with a demanding tone.

"We don't know, sir. We're going to give you a mild sedative to ease your anxiety; then you're heading off to Germany, too."

He felt a cold swipe to his upper arm and a sharp prick immediately after. Very soon thereafter he felt the tension ease from his body and mind.

The next day was an awkward blur of rising and falling levels of anxiety and frustrating attempts to care for himself. If a meal was more than a sandwich or other finger food, the meal tray, more often than not, wound up being unceremoniously swiped to the floor. Staff who tried to help were rewarded with resistance and, cursing and thrashing arms. His attempts to locate and use the latrine met with similar outcomes – frustrated curses. His one refuge from his anxiety was sleep, where he was shielded in a deep, medicated cocoon.

Once he arrived at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, 1Lt August Anderson promptly received an MRI of his head and a thorough eye exam. The next morning he met again with the attending ophthalmologist for more tests.

Shortly after August had shoved the remnants of his breakfast aside, but not to the floor – he'd been soundly reprimanded for sending his dinner crashing to the floor the evening before – he heard someone approaching.

"Anderson," a vaguely familiar voice said evenly. "Dr. Perkins here; I've got the results of your exams."

August mentally braced himself for the worst – that the nothingness before him would be permanent, all the while hoping that the news would tell him when his sight would return. "Let me have it, doc."

A gentle female hand touched his hand. He stiffened under her touch; this was not going to be good.

"The news is, unfortunately, not good. Your eyes are permanently damaged from the concussive wave of the exploding IED. The shockwave detached both retinas and damaged your optic nerves. They're not going to repair themselves and there is no surgery, or pill, that will fix them. You're permanently blind."

"NO!" The scream slipped from his lips in the form of a guttural cry of pain. He felt as if he'd been gut punched; an unfamiliar wetness welled up in his sightless eyes. After a few moments he managed to sputter out a timid, "What now?"

"We'll give you a few hours to compose yourself; then you'll get shipped back to the States. Walter Reed first; then where you go for rehabilitation is open. Once there you'll begin your training to learn to live as a blind person. You'll be taught how to move about safely and with confidence, and relearning how to do many things will come with time." Dr. Perkins patted his hand and a few moments later he heard the door close.

His fingers found the hospital bed's controls and laid back, then curled into the fetal position and sobbed into his pillow. On the one hand it felt very un-soldierly; on the other he could not stop the flow of emotions that washed over him – fear was primary, but waves of anger and despair lapped at him, too.

Sometime later, once his tears had ceased, August rubbed his eyes and heard the door latch click and tentative footsteps approaching. The footfalls were not the quick, sure ones of hospital staff. Uneasily August called out, "Who's there?" His fingers touched the controls and raised the head of the bed.

"It's me, Auggie," the familiar voice of his brother, Alan said.

"Alan? What the hell are you doing here?" Auggie asked, incredulity lacing his voice.

"Have you forgotten that I'm your Emergency Contact?" Alan Anderson said while pulling Auggie into a brotherly hug.

Auggie fingered the fabric of his brother's Marine shirt and absent-mindedly traced the insignia on the sleeve. "As a matter of fact I did, Alan. Or should I call you 'Gunny' now?" _How did I know that?_ Auggie thought to himself.

Alan broke the hug and held his brother at arm's length. "They told me that you'd been in an IED explosion and were being sent here ASAP. They expedited my paperwork and I got leave from the unit and got here as fast as I could. I feared the worst, but you don't look anything like I expected. You don't look hurt at all."

"Looks can be deceiving," Auggie said sadly. Then barely above a whisper he added, "I'm blind, Alan. I'm permanently blind."

After he inhaled sharply in surprise, Alan once again pulled his brother into a bear hug. "How?"

"The doctor explained it to me a few hours ago, but I really didn't understand the details. She called it 'Purser's - Pusher's - P-something Retinopathy'.

"I'm calling Adam. Maybe he'll be able to explain it to us."

"NO!" Auggie lashed out with his arms and was rewarded with the sound of a cell phone skittering across the floor. The last thing that he wanted was his doctor brother flying halfway around the world to hold his hand. It was bad enough that Alan was here. Adam might have tormented him mercilessly when they were growing up, they might have fought like pit bulls, but when the times were tough they always had each other's backs.

"Auggie, what's gotten into you? Why don't you want to talk to Adam?" The sound of his voice retreated.

"I don't … I don't know." He lied crossly. "I don't want the rest of the family to know. Not right now anyway. Promise me you won't call Mom and Dad," he begged. "Or share this information with any of our brothers."

"I'm not sure that's the right thing to do," Alan replied from nearby.

"Promise!" August commanded his brother as he started to rise out of the hospital bed, intent on finding Alan and taking his phone from him. Alan might have been six years older than Auggie, but August out ranked his brother.

"Calm down, Auggie. Okay. I promise."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." He cocked his head towards his older brother. Part of him wanted to admit his fear and vulnerability to him, part wanted to simply catch up with what had been happening in his Marine world; catching up won out. "Did you get a promotion?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"I don't know," Auggie admitted awkwardly. "I think something different registered when I felt the patch on your sleeve."

"Got the promo a few weeks ago; just got the stripe sewn on a few days ago."

"Oh, hell, Alan. I'm scared." His carefully crafted CIA Special Forces demeanor suddenly fell away. Tears once again welled up, and flooded out. "I don't know how I'm going to … live like this. Don't know if I want to."

Firm hands grasped his upper arms and shook him angrily. "Auggie, don't say that."

"Get me out of here, take me to the street and push me in front of a bus or big truck!"

"I will do no such thing, August." His brother pulled him into another tight hug. "Stop it. I know you're scared. But you CAN do this. I'm here for a few days, we'll work some of it out. Find out what's next for you. I'm pretty damn sure you're not the first soldier to come back from combat like this."

Auggie broke free of his brother's firm embrace. "Like what? Blind? Or scared out of their freaking minds?"

A chair scrapped across the floor as Alan pulled it up to sit beside the hospital bed. "Both," he said decisively. He sat in silence for a few minutes; then said, "Remember that kid, Michael Forester, from high school?"

"The one with the white cane who was tormented endlessly?"'

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"He was blind."

"Are you trying to be helpful here, because it's not working. If I remember right he may have graduated top of his class, but I heard that he went into some sort of sheltered workshop to make brooms or something." The remembered sight of the tall, good-looking kid with an unruly mop of hair tapping his way down the hall, being deliberately bumped and taunted sickened Auggie as it had back then. That wasn't going to be him; but it was.

"I don't know what he might have done right after graduation, but the last time I was home I ran into him and his wife; Tony and Austin dragged me to some lawyer shindig. Remember Christy Brown?"

"The hot cheerleader?"

"Yeah, her. She's now Mrs. Forester."

"You've got to be kidding. She could have had anyone she wanted and she picked him?"

"Yeah. She did. They're both lawyers – part of a high priced law firm in Chicago, according to Austin."

"You're not kidding are you?"

"Nope. Despite his lack of sight he made life work for him. I don't see why you can't."

"He was born blind, he really didn't have much choice."

"And you do?"


	2. Traveling Travails

This chapter took much longer to post than I'd hoped. It took longer to whip into a shape I was okay with posting.

Many, many thanks to Marisa Bennet for her corrections and suggestions.

Disclaimer: I don't own Covert Affiars, or August/Auggie Anderson. I do own the rest of the characters in this chapter.

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August Anderson awoke to his unwelcoming visual void. A moment of panic coursed through him as it had every time he'd opened his eyes in the last few days. He listened to the relative quiet that surrounded him – a big change from the commotion of the hospitals. The last two … or was it three? … days had been a challenge. It seemed as if he'd been pushed and pulled from pillar to post. His exit from Landstuhl RMC had been too quick for his liking. He would have liked to have had more time with Alan. He'd felt almost safe with him around.

The ride from Europe had been, as far as he'd considered, a complete disaster. He'd been settled into a jump seat and pretty much ignored for the duration – not totally, food had been offered, and the opportunity to relieve himself, but for the most part the drone of the engines, the muffled groans of his wounded comrades, and the hushed conversation of the medical personnel had been his only companions. To say that he'd been ill at ease would have been an understatement.

The rest of his journey to Walter Reed had been an even bigger disaster. Someone had simply grabbed his hand and led him to the waiting transport. He'd almost fallen down the ramp off of the aircraft and had tripped over something on the tarmac. He'd arrived at Walter Reed in a state of distress. He'd welcomed the medicated slumber he'd been offered.

His treatment at Walter Reed had been much more caring, but he'd met with so many people of various disciplines that his time there was a blur – Occupational Therapy, Physical Therapy, and Audiology had all had a turn at evaluating him, and he'd had another eye exam. The results all told him what he'd come to understand: he was still blind and his other senses were fully functioning.

He'd also met with a Social Worker who had given him a choice of facilities where he could go to learn to adapt to his new circumstances. The social worker had pushed for him to go the VA facility in Hines, Illinois. It was close to his family and family was an integral part of learning to live again she'd said. August had summarily dismissed that option. The last thing he wanted was to be around his family – at least not until he'd become less of a quivering mass of nerves. They'd finally settled on a new facility in Reston, Virginia. It was close to D.C. and he thought that he'd like to remain in there. Anywhere away from Glencoe, Illinois had been his choice.

He'd arrived here mid-afternoon the day before. It had been a fairly quiet journey, far less incident-filled than his previous travels. Once he'd arrived he'd been warmly greeted by the facility's social worker, Beth. She'd gone over the program's goals and timetable, but very little of it had sunk in. Paperwork for admission had been read to him and awkwardly signed. All of that was followed by a quick tour of the building ending with him being shown to his room. Beth had taken a good bit of time to show him where things were in it: twin bed, desk, four drawer dresser, small closet, bathroom. She'd even shown him where things were in the small, utilitarian bath. And she had helped him stow the things from the backpack the Wounded Warrior Project had given him after he'd arrived at Landstuhl RMC, and the few things that Alan had gone to the PX to get for him.

He'd been left to further explore and memorize the layout of the small room. More like cell, he'd thought once. Then someone had come to lead him to the dining room. The meal had been edible and the process of eating had been less frustrating than other meals over the last few days. He'd been told where things were on his plate as they related to the face of a clock: his meat was at six o'clock, potato at ten, and vegetable at two. His iced tea was to his right at one o'clock. His main annoyance had come from the number of times his fork had reached his mouth empty. He didn't know if the bite had fallen off on its way to his mouth, or if he'd not gotten anything on it in the first place. When he'd decided he was done eating, someone had led him back to his room.

Now, wanting to clear his head of those memories, he sat up on the edge of the bed, and went over the room's layout in his mind. Slowly he rose and padded to the bath. He closed and locked the door behind him. Once again he did not want someone to walk in on his bumbling attempt to get a shower and otherwise ready himself to meet yet another day in the disorienting darkness that was now his. Shortly after he'd gotten dressed in the remaining sweatpants and T-shirt that Alan had picked up for him, someone came to lead him to breakfast.

When he got back to his room, Auggie was informed his service duffel had arrived. Carefully he examined the large bag now sitting in the middle of his bed. It'd just been delivered to him by a military courier. He wondered who had drawn the short straw and had to pack the things from his tent. More than likely it had been Specialist Lovell; it seemed it was his luck to get the grunt work. It should have been Specialist Long, but he was on his way home in a flag draped box. That last day in Germany, when he had found out about Long, he'd almost wished he could have shared the same fate.

With a sigh, his long fingers located the zipper on the bag and opened it. Warily he examined the things on top. His spare pair of boots, he slid them under the edge of the bed; neatly rolled T-shirts and skivvies, those went in the top drawer of the dresser three steps from the edge of the bed to join the civilian briefs that the WWP had provided and the ones that Alan had gone to the PX and gotten; his dress uniform – Auggie sighed despondently – like he'd be wearing that again. Several pair of fatigues finished off that side of the bag. He ran his fingers across the bottom to determine if he'd missed anything. A handful of coins were in the corner and he fished them out. He wasn't sure if they were American or Iraqi, he'd had both in a dish on his footlocker. His footlocker – he wondered where that had gone. Didn't really matter, there was nothing left in it that he'd ever use again now that his few clothes were here. Well, maybe if he had his sidearm he could put himself out of his misery.

He sighed dejectedly and turned his attention to the other side of the bag. On top was his shaving kit. Another pair of fatigues and a pair of civilian slacks, two pair of shorts, and his jeans along with a couple of shirts were under it. Slowly and with great care, he put everything away. Returning to the bag he continued to let his hands explore what was left in it. In the bottom were some towels and the dog-eared book that he'd been reading in his off time, bookmark still in place; and nestled in the corner he found his spare pair of glasses. Another thing he'd never use again. He continued to search the sides for his iPod, the one thing that might give him some small solace. When he could not locate it, he cursed softly and hoped that whoever had it wasn't doing too much damage to his iTunes account. With an irritated groan, he tossed the partially empty duffle bag in the general direction of the closet and sat on the bed. He scrubbed his hands across his face and then ran them over his head. He'd need a haircut soon if he was to maintain his military cut.

"Not a good idea to just toss that duffle bag any old where on the floor. You'll be tripping over it later."

The sound of a soft woman's voice startled Auggie. "Who are you? … How long have you been standing there?" he asked more than slightly embarrassed.

"I'm Marissa McClew. I'm the Orientation and Mobility instructor here," the voice said coming closer. "I've been watching you for a little while from the hallway. Thought that I'd help you unpack a bit; I'm pleased to know that you were able to take care of that on your own. I'm not too happy that you just tossed your bag toward the closet though. I'm going to move it into the bottom of the closet for you, so you don't trip over it later." He heard her move the duffel bag.

"Thanks. I didn't think about the tripping over it part."

"What did you find in your unpacking that upset you?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me. Why are you upset?"

Auggie deliberated for several moments. Then picked up the glasses from where they lay next to his thigh and said, "These," holding his former glasses out toward where the voice was coming from.

"Ah. Won't be doing you much good now will they." Marissa said with compassion.

"Nope."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nope."

"Are you always this talkative?"

"Nope." Auggie started to relax a bit and almost enjoyed the brief banter.

"I'll trade you," she said as she took the glasses from Auggie and pressed something else into his hand.

Auggie examined the long tapered stick that Marissa had given him. It took a moment, but he recognized what it was – a cane. A white cane just like that kid in high school had used. Anger bristled within him. "I don't want this," he said thrusting it back at her. He'd been blind for how long – five days now? – and someone was presenting him with this symbol of dependence and inadequacy. _Damn it! Damn it all to hell!_

"It's going to be your new best friend," she stated firmly.

"No. … It's not. I don't need it. I don't want it." He thrust it back at her again, his features turning hard and unyielding.

After a long few moments, she finally took it from him. "Okay. If you want to walk into walls, doorjambs and furniture, and fall into holes in the sidewalk, I can't make you accept this."

As she walked out of the room he heard her sigh and mumble something under her breath that sounded like, 'he's going to be a tough nut to crack.' From the doorway she called back to him, "Lt, Anderson, you have not seen the last of me."

"Ha, I've never seen you and never will," he shot back at her. The finality of that statement caught him off-guard. He picked up the paperback off his bed and angrily flung it toward the wall. Then, after giving himself a minute to cool off, he reconsidered. He located the book on the floor, not far from his foot, and placed it in the closet with his bag. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this new person, but at least he would not be tripping over his things in front of her if he could help it.

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I like reviews. They let me know that you like what I'm doing. Or not doing that you'd like to know.


	3. Into the Darkness

Thanks again to resourceress7 (Marisa B.) for he corrections and suggestions. Just helps to make my writing better.

Disclaimer: I do not own Auggie. As much as I'd like to, I do not. He belongs to the writers of Covert Affairs, and to the awesome Christopher Gorham.

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Chapter Three – Into the Darkness

Auggie slowly worked his way down the hall from his room toward the residents' lounge area. Earlier in the week – Monday was it? Hell, all the days seemed to blend into one – Marissa had shown him around the building while informing him of ways to know where he was. She'd also tried to get him to use the long rigid cane again. That time he'd flung the thing across the room with a clatter rather than simply thrusting it back at her. Oh, how he wished that his eyes could just heal and his sight return so that he would not need the things that she wanted to teach him.

Today he knew that she was somewhere behind him, watching his progress; he occasionally heard the squeak of her shoes on the tile floor. His current assignment was to go to the lounge area, locate a specific chair and then go on to the dining room. He was frightened of walking into the unknown that lay before him – but less so than he'd been the day before.

He did not shuffle, but his stride was not his normal one, nor was it confident. The back of his right hand trailed lightly along the cool ceramic tiled wall and offered him a bit of reassurance, a tether to reality. Tentatively he counted off the doors as he passed. Auggie consciously searched for a crack in the tile. When his knuckles brushed over the rough spot, he reached out with his left hand for the wide bar on the fire door. He was not going to find the damn door with his body again. His hand met with air where he thought the door should be. Slowly he took a step forward and collided into something with his right shoulder. Oh, crap. The door was open and he'd just banged into the door jamb. He heard a frustrated sigh from behind him.

Auggie repositioned himself in the doorway and took two short steps forward. From the edge of the door he knew that he was to cross straight ahead and to the first door on his right. He paused for a moment, both listening for anyone coming down the cross hall, and to steel his nerves. He'd frozen here yesterday and hadn't been able to continue the next eight feet. Today, he told himself, he'd make it across to the other side. He took one step, then another. Without a wall for security, he felt the uneasiness rise higher within him. Where was that fearless soldier when he needed him?

That soldier had been left outside of Tikrit, Iraq. Now he was a mere civilian who was facing the scariest thing that he'd ever had to face before: Climbing to the top of the 100-foot-tall maple tree outside his boyhood home when he was six years old on a brotherly dare hadn't been this scary; kissing a girl for the first time hadn't been this nerve-wracking; engaging in his first fire fight had been truly terrifying, but it still paled in comparison to this.

Auggie harnessed the surge of adrenaline that was coursing through him, took a few more steps, and located the wall on the far side of the hall. He did not know how he made it to the door of the lounge, but he did. With trembling hands he opened the door and entered. He cocked his head slightly as he listened for the sounds of anyone who might be in the room. He didn't detect anyone, and slowly felt his way into the room and located an armchair. It might not have been the chair Marissa had wanted him to locate, but it was his momentary refuge. He worked his way to its front. Trembling, he sank into it. He rested his elbows on his knees and placed his quaking hands on his face. Behind him he heard the door open and close.

"Congratulations," Marissa said.

"Why are you congratulating me? I haven't made it to the mess hall yet," he said testily. He took a few ragged, deep breaths, calming himself as much as he could; then rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"To the dining hall; I'm going to complete this mission," he announced with what he hoped sounded like conviction to Marissa. Inside he was anything but convinced that he'd be able to find his way to the next location. Mentally he reviewed his instructions: he could cross the hallway here, or retrace his steps to the intersection of the two main hallways, then cross this hallway, and then continue on to the end of the east-west corridor. Or, he could cross this hallway here, turn to his left, go to the end of the wall, make a right, and follow that hall to the end.

Cautiously, he found his way out of the room and straight across to the opposite wall. He found it with his body when he misjudged how many paces it would take to traverse the corridor. He grunted at the impact. Quickly he took a small step back and turned to his left. Trailing his right hand against the wall on his right again, he walked carefully to its end and turned to his right and down the hall to the dining room.

It was the middle of the morning and he heard the rattle of dishes and the sound of a vacuum from the staff who were still straightening up after breakfast, so Auggie only stopped before the double doors and waited for Marissa. His heart was still pounding in his chest like a herd of galloping horses and a knot the size of a beach ball resided in his stomach, but he did feel a small sense of accomplishment, nonetheless.

A moment later he heard Marissa's sneakers squeak to a halt beside him as the faint scent of her perfume reached is nose. He felt her hand brush gently against the back of his; his signal that he could take her arm and she would guide him. Gratefully he grasped her upper arm just above her elbow. Once his fingers curled around her arm, he lost some of his dread.

"Very good, Lt. Anderson. Very good."

"Please call me, Auggie. Lt. Anderson doesn't exist anymore," he said resentfully.

As she began to step out, she let out what, to Auggie's ears, sounded like an exasperated sigh.

No matter how much he wanted her to, Auggie knew that Marissa would not take him back to the refuge of his room. She would be taking him to one of his other required sessions. He would spend the better part of the next hour with a woman who jarred his nerves and infuriated him. He did not know which he hated more, the next hour or the hour directly after the noon meal when he had an appointment with the psychiatrist. The only redeeming part of the day would be in the late afternoon, when he could spend time in the small workout area. Running on the treadmill was like opening up a valve to let out his ever-increasing anger, and gradually replacing it with physical exhaustion. Sure, he would rather have been out running in the fresh air and sunshine, in the rain even, but, for the time being, he would have to be content with the treadmill.

The sound of Marissa's soft voice brought him out of his reflection of the day that lay ahead. "You've done better today. I'm pleased that you didn't have a meltdown. It is rough striking out into the unknown, but you did it well today. How are your toes? You did connect with that wall pretty hard. That wouldn't have happened if you'd been using the cane."

He took a deep breath and, this time, managed to keep his thoughts on that subject to himself. Why was she always trying to thrust that symbol of all that he hated about his current predicament in into his hands? He_ was _going to learn how to cope without the blasted thing.

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After the small victory he'd had with Marissa, the rest of the day had gone badly. Very badly. His next meeting had been with the older woman he despised. Well, maybe he didn't exactly despise the woman herself, but the things that she had him do. Once again, one after another she had placed objects in his hands and expected him to identify them and tell her what they were used for. Idiocy, pure idiocy. Eating utensils had been the first things. Easy. So easy he didn't even bother to respond. Then a safety razor with the plastic guard still on it; she'd wanted him to show her how it was used. Hell, was she blind, too. Couldn't she tell that he, with Alan's hesitant assistance, had figured that out days ago while he'd still been in Germany?

Then she'd done something that had struck a nerve. He couldn't even recall what it had been, but it had sent him into a rage. Everything within his reach had been unceremoniously flung. He remembered that he'd gotten up out of the chair to storm out, then froze when he realized that he had no freakin' idea where he was or what might lie between him and the security of his tiny room. He'd stood for many long moments with his fists clenched at his side and the muscles in his jaw, and face, hard and steadfast. He'd fought, and won, the battle with the damned tears that had wanted to spill from his eyes yet again. He was certain that he'd frightened her, whoever she was, because he had almost frightened himself with the intensity of the emotion that struck him so quickly. So unexpectedly.

Lunch had been but a brief respite from his unpleasant morning. It was some sort of special day, and the meal had been grilled hamburgers, and bagged chips. He'd managed that meal without much difficulty, and after the normal fare of the previous days, he had savored his cheeseburger like none that he'd ever had before.

First thing in the afternoon he'd met with the psychiatrist. They'd spent a few minutes just chatting about the things that Auggie had done before – hobbies, work, and family dynamics. It had started out as just a pleasant conversation, then one thing had led to another and Auggie'd felt his blood begin to boil. Again he didn't exactly remember what was said that triggered the intense emotion that had lead him to screaming obscenities at the man, and trying to storm out only to stumble over a chair he'd forgotten was there and walking head on into the wall. The psychiatrist had also mentioned that he wouldn't have tripped or walked into the wall if he'd used a cane. Why was everyone trying to put that despicable symbol of dependence and helplessness into his hands?

He had found the door in the psychiatrist's office and slammed it shut behind him, only to find himself once again in an unknown void. He wound up begging a passer-by to take him to his room. Then he'd spent an indeterminate amount of time curled in a ball on his bed, whimpering like a whipped puppy. He had never, ever, felt this helpless - or hopeless.

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As much as I like the 'story alerts', reviews feed the muse. Please let me know what you like. Or, don't like.


	4. Crawling Before Walking

I'm sure this change in Chapter numbers/sequence is going to confuse some. It confused me. I got ahead of my self.

Many thanks once again to resourceress7 (Marisa Bennett) for her words of encouragement, suggestions, and corrections.

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Chapter Four – Crawling Before Walking

Auggie sat in a hard plastic chair at a table in the now almost familiar therapy room. On the other side of the table sat the irritating woman – a woman who treated him as if he were a child rather than the man he was.

"What's this?" she asked as he felt a cold metal object being placed in his right hand.

Once again he sat wordlessly and placed the spoon on the plastic plate to his right. This was freaking boring and did not get him closer to knowing how to use it to eat properly now and without making him appear inept.

Another metal object was placed in his hand. He carefully nested the fork on top of the spoon which lay across the table knife.

The sound of something being dumped out on the table reached his ears. His left hand was placed on top of a wooden box, as a wooden block was positioned in his other hand. He sighed exasperatedly. Not this again. He manipulated the object in his hand – a rhombus – now to locate that shape on the sorting cube. Good Gawd, this was childish. His nieces and nephews had mastered this by the time they were three years old. Then a realization hit him: in his mind, his brothers' children would always be the way they'd appeared to him the last time he'd seen them, well over a year ago. His heart sank

He sighed and deliberated for a moment and decided that for once he'd humor her and comply with this demeaning activity. His left hand skimmed the various surfaces of the wooden block, quickly considering each opening in turn. When he thought that he'd located the proper opening, he brought his right hand over to meet his left. He easily inserted the wooden block in the slot. He felt something brush against the back of his right hand. _Another damn shape_. Reluctantly he grasped the block and maneuvered it about between his fingers. _An octagon?_ Once again he felt the sides of the larger hollow block. He tried to insert the block in his hand into what he thought was the proper hole. _Damn. Not there._ With increasing frustration Auggie's fingers fumbled over the sides once again.

Just as he thought that he'd located the proper slot, his hands froze and his body stiffened at the sound of the door to his right opening. The infuriating woman spoke briefly to the intruder, who crossed the room and turned on a water faucet to his left. Involuntarily Auggie turned his head to assess the new person so close to him in the room. This gave him no new information, and the lack of a defined person before him once again caught him off-guard. He could not assess the age, height, weight or status of this person. He listened intently as soft footsteps traveled to the other end of the room. He paid close attention as this person opened and then closed what sounded like a refrigerator and then that sound was quickly followed by some clattering noises. A plate? A cup? A glass? _Damnit, what was going on back there?_

As he become increasingly conscious that he had no good idea of what this anonymous person behind him was doing, his anxiety level mounted. Every fiber of his being came to razor sharpness as years of needing to know what was going on around him in order to survive sprang into action. Once again, the fight-or-flight response grew in him uncontrollably. This time he was not able to control his reaction. With a cry of frustration, the block in his hand flew across the room landing with a soft clunk some ways in front of him and then skittered off. He reached out on the table and found the rest of the blocks and sent them flying into his nothingness. A pen, a clipboard, and a plastic coil band of keys soon followed. Then he swept his arms across the table, sending the tableware to his right and the sorting block to his left clattering to the floor. He swung to his left in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. He choked back another cry of anguish and fought to control his rapid breathing.

"Okay Anderson, that's it. Get a grip. The time for raging tantrums is over. I understand that you're frustrated and afraid."

His teeth clenched, he let out an exasperated groan.

"And I have an idea of what you might be afraid of – becoming dependent."

He swung around in the chair to face her. The taut muscles in his jaw relaxed just a bit, and then tightened once again. _How dare she presume to know what he was feeling?_

"Ah," her tone softened a tad. "Let me tell you that if you continue to resist what we're trying to teach you, you won't build the skills that you need, and you really _will_ become dependent. You need to let go of all this anger. It's counterproductive. We are here to teach you how to live independently and confidently, not how to become dependent on others. You are a smart man; use that brilliance to learn what we have to teach you. Yes, some of the tasks right now seem childish – the first time you learned to do these things by yourself you _were_ a child. But, now you need new ways to do them, starting with tasks that used to be so simple; like an infant you have to learn to crawl before you can walk. Not literally, but I'm sure that you understand what I mean."

He was taken aback by both her words and her tone. His mind reeled as if she'd slapped his face. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to speak to him like that. Not since his mother had caught him coming in drunk the night of his high school graduation.

"Actually, right now, I am going to ask you to literally crawl. I'm tired of picking up after you. Get down on your hands and knees and find everything that you've thrown or swiped off the table this morning."

"And what if I just get up and walk out of here?" he asked indignantly.

"If you can locate the door and make your way to it without assistance, and without falling on your ass over the stuff on the floor, I'll take it as a good session. But from here on, if you throw it, or deliberately knock it off the table, you ARE picking it up."

He didn't fully understand his motivation to do so – perhaps it was her firm, no nonsense tone, perhaps it was that she had called him a man, perhaps it was that she indicated that she really understood him – but Auggie took to his knees and alternately swept one hand and then the other before him and to his side as he traversed the area between the table and the end of the room and back. As he located each object he identified it and held it out to her.

She took each one with a soft, "Thank you."

He should have felt humiliated, but he did not. For one of the few times since he'd been injured, he felt a small glimmer of pride, of accomplishment. "I don't think that's everything. Could you give me a little assistance here?"

She seemed to hesitate a moment, then said, "Not everything landed on the floor."

Slowly he rose to his feet and gingerly felt his way around the room. As his hand brushed past the door, he momentarily thought of walking out. No. Suddenly understanding dawned in him: he had been gaining knowledge of this room, even in his earlier state of panic. Now he knew that he had a point to make – to himself and to the infuriating woman in the room with him. His hand continued to ghost along the wall.

He bumped into a bank of waist high cabinets at the end of the room. Sweeping his right hand across the countertop, he examined every item his fingers located and named it. He even opened the plastic drawers of the cabinets he encountered, and announced their contents to her after a brief assessment. When he got to the counter in front of the window he announced, "There's a big window in this wall. I think that the sun is out today."

"How can you tell?" she said with a bit of surprise.

"The air current is slightly different here, and it's way warmer here than in the other part of the room." He moved a few paces to the left. "There should be a sink just about here. Yeah, there it is," he proclaimed as his left hand touched the porcelain clad steel basin. He turned and took several steps into the room, slowly arcing his right arm before him. When his thigh came in contact with the table, he allowed his left hand to brush along the table's edge as his right arm continued to slowly sweep before him. Once he had located the chair he sat, a self-satisfied smirk graced his features.

"This table and chair are about in the center of this room. There's more behind me, but I'm getting tired of proving a point. I know one thing, there are chocolate chip cookies somewhere back there. Any chance of you bringing me one as a reward? Or, are you going to continue tormenting me?"

He heard her retreat to the far end of the room, take two items from an upper cabinet, open the refrigerator door, take something from it, and close the door back. Shortly he heard her place two items before him.

"There's a plate with two cookies on it about a hand's width in front of you and a glass of milk at your two o'clock."

Carefully inching his right hand forward with his fingers slightly curled under, he located the plate and picked up a cookie and took a bite. After a few bites, he located the glass in a similar manner and took a swig. For the next few minutes he savored the cookies and milk. They were just about the best thing he'd tasted since the last meal he'd had before leaving for Iraq.

"Thanks. They were very tasty. Cooking class?"

"Yeah," she said with a tinge of surprise. "How …?"

"I've smelled good aromas on this wing, definitely not the stuff from the mess hall. And I didn't think that you'd let us out of here without teaching us how to get around in a kitchen. Maybe not gourmet stuff, but sustenance sort of meals. If you'd started out with something practical, I might not have been so scared and angry for so long. All I need to know is how not to be a total burden on whichever of my siblings is going to get custody of me now."

"What do you mean? Our goal is to have you ready to go back to work when you get out of here!"

"Work? Ha! All I've ever known is how to be a soldier, an officer. Well, that and computers and electronics. Don't see much future in either of those."

"You really need to be talking to your psychiatrist about these things,"

"Don't like the bastard. All he wants to do is talk about my feelings. Hell, I'm scared. I'm frustrated. I'm lonely. I'm supposed to be happy that I'm now blind? I haven't been happy since … Well, let's just say I haven't been happy in a long time. How is getting in touch with all of that going to make my life better? It's not. I had goals. I'll never reach them now."

"What were your goals?"

"Career-wise, those goals have to remain private. Classified. One day I hoped for a wife, maybe a family. A house in the suburbs. I don't see any of that happening."

"Maybe not that classified career goal, but there's no reason the rest of it can't happen. And you can set new career goals."

"HA! Who's going to want to be with a blind man with no job?" The niggling fear of no longer being attractive to women caused his heart to sink again. He'd always been able to get a woman, but would the ladies still love a blind guy?

"I shouldn't tell you this, but I'm married to a very successful man who just happens to be blind. He has a high-powered and high-paying career. I don't have to work, but I want to be here to help men like you become men like my husband – well-adjusted, successful, and mostly independent."

"Mostly independent?"

"Well, he does have some limitations, like he can't drive, he asks me to help him match his shirts with ties, and in unfamiliar places we often walk together using sighted guide techniques. But then there are things that I need help with. I'm a bit vertically challenged and can't reach things on the top shelf. He can. And he's amazing with computers, so he's my live-in tech support."

Auggie's eyebrows shot up briefly at the mention of computers. How much of that could he really do now? He put that thought away for the moment.

"Did he lose his sight after you were married?"

"No. He'd been blinded before I met him."

"Then you chose him? Didn't just stick with him after?" Auggie's heart beat a little faster - was that anxiety? Hope? Would anyone ever choose him now?

"Yes, I chose him. And I'm lucky to have him. He's a wonderful husband and father to our children."

"What's he do?" Auggie asked timidly.

"He's a lawyer. We met while he was in law school. I was one of the people who read books onto tape for him, or sometimes read things to him in person if they weren't available in Braille or already on tape or CD and he needed the information quickly."

"A lawyer, huh. Two of my brothers are lawyers. It's not something that I have an interest in."

"Don't have to. There are lots of other fields where blind folks can be successful. You said that you liked computers and electronics. You can still do that sort of stuff."

"How?" Auggie asked incredulous. He wanted to believe this woman, but after the hell he'd been going through, the things she'd just told him about having a career and a relationship hardly seemed real.


	5. Words of Wisdom

For the few of you who still seem to be following Auggie's journey, here's the next installment. Auggie still has a few hurdles to overcome, but he is now firmly on the road to the confident man that we all know and love.

In my defense, I'd begun this chapter before some of you began to incorporate lyrics into your stories. (I don't mean the iPod shuffles) It worked for you, and I hope it works here, too.

Many thanks once again to resourceress7 (Marisa Bennett) for her words of encouragement, suggestions, and corrections. Love you girlfrien'.

* * *

Chapter Five – Words of Wisdom

Auggie sat on the edge of his bed thinking. The radio on the desk played softly in the background. He'd found an 'Oldies' station and the Beatles tune _Let it Be_ filled the air.

'_When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,  
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.  
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,  
speaking words of wisdom, let it be. _

_Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be._  
_Whisper words of wisdom, let it be._

_And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,_  
_there will be an answer, let it be._  
_For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,_  
_there will be an answer, let it be. …'_

For some odd reason, even though he'd heard the song a couple of hundred times before, the words struck a chord with him. _'When I find myself in times of trouble … in my hour of darkness … Whisper words of wisdom …'_ Trouble. Darkness. He had them both. Wisdom? He sure as hell needed some of that.

Maybe not exactly wisdom, but something that Marissa had said to him on Friday had been troubling him. He remembered the outburst he'd had. He'd stood trembling with tears sliding uncontrollably down his cheeks when she'd left him standing alone in the middle of a room.

She hadn't exactly whispered, but she hadn't exactly shouted either, but she'd told him, _'Life is going to knock you over, simple as that, but do you have the guts to stand up and fight back?' _He'd blundered his way around in the days following her statement and he'd thought it over. _Did_ he have the guts to get on with his bleak life? He was still terrified on so many levels: of what the future – immediate and long-term held for him. He didn't feel certain about anything these days, but he was starting to think that maybe he could try swallowing his fear, and working to adapt to this situation he now found himself in.

A rap on the door brought him out of his reverie. "Come in, it's open."

"Did you forget our appointment this morning?" Marissa said from the doorway. "Or are you giving up?"

"What time is it? Didn't forget, just didn't think it was time yet."

"I'll have Jane loan you a watch so you can know the time," she said then chuckled lightly. "Come on. We'll walk and talk."

Auggie rose and ambled towards the door. When he was close to her, Marissa brushed the back of his hand with hers and he followed her arm up to her elbow and grasped her arm just above it.

"Auggie, why are you so resistant to the cane?" Marissa asked softly as they walked down the hall towards her office.

"Because it makes me look blind; and I don't want to be seen as a target," he said quietly, skirting around the high school memory.

"Hate to be the one to break it to you, buster," she said in mock seriousness, "but you are blind."

There was that word again – B L I N D. He wasn't blind. He just couldn't see.

"Seriously, though, you're a bigger target without it. But that's just my opinion. Obviously you have a different one."

Auggie was still having a serious internal debate about whether or not to learn to use the cane. He'd crashed his shins on one too many chairs in the last few days. But, if using the friggin' cane would help him get on with his life, he'd use one.

With a deep sigh of weary resignation - after pondering things all weekend, he had to admit he really was tired of fighting this - he decided to let her words spur him to take action. "All right, fine. You can teach me how to use the damn cane. But I'm only doing this to get you off my back about it."

"Good," Marissa exclaimed.

As they continued to walk Marissa again spoke. "There are two philosophies on blindness. One is held by a lot of people, including many blind individuals and it says that blindness is a disaster, a catastrophe. I'm going to tell you that if you decide that blindness is a disaster, it will be for you. It will dominate and control your life. It will limit your thoughts, your relationships and your achievements.

"The second is the one that we believe here. That blindness is just a physical characteristic, and with the right kinds of training in dealing with the situations you meet in your everyday life, blindness can be reduced to a simple inconvenience."

"An inconvenience?" Auggie responded with incredulity._ Yeah, right. Biggest damn inconvenience he'd ever come across_.

"It may take you a while to get to that stage, but we hope that by the time you leave here you'll be on the road there." She stopped and opened a door. "Here we are; my lair.

"We still need to do some basic work before I'm going to put a cane in your hand though," Marissa said as she guided Auggie into the room. He sighed and wondered what she was going to do with him today. Lately she was the one person who seemed to always leave him feeling exposed and vulnerable, without an anchor.

"I'm going to leave you here and walk around the room and make a noise. I want you to point to me when you hear the noise."

This again. Every time he'd been here she'd left him standing in the middle of this room and walked away from him. He felt the all too familiar wave of panic rising within him. He hated having no sense of where he was and who or what was around him. This time he forced himself to fight it, and focused his energy on planting his feet firmly on the floor, and listening for her voice - the only things available to help ground him in the featureless void around him. He took a deep, shaky sigh. "What kind of noise?" he heard himself say - louder than he'd thought he could manage.

"Could be anything: I may clap my hands, rattle something, click a clicker," a click-clack sounded to his right.

Hesitantly he pointed to his right. "You're right there," he said. This was the first time in the week that he'd been in this place that he'd managed to get this far without his emotions taking control of him.

"Good," she responded. "You've got the idea. This exercise is to see how well you can tell where a person, or object, is just by listening."

For the next ten minutes Auggie, instead of allowing panic to take over, strained his ears to hear the faintest sound Marissa might make.

Sound. Point. Sound. Point. Sound. He pointed and told her what she'd done.

"Very good, Lt. Anderson. Very good." He smiled. Her praise warmed him, settled him. But her words also annoyed him – First Lieutenant August David Anderson had died the moment he'd awoken in the field hospital without his sight.

"Please, I've asked you to call me, Auggie. I've told you that Lt. Anderson doesn't exist anymore," he said firmly.

Was that a sigh? An exasperated sigh? Seems like every time she was around him she'd sigh a bunch.

"Okay. … Auggie. This next exercise is similar to the first but I just want you to listen and tell me what you hear and approximately where the sound is coming from. If you'd rather sit to do this one, there's a chair two paces behind you and slightly to your right."

Auggie pivoted and, sweeping his right hand before him, took two steps and located the hard plastic chair. Once he had settled himself on the hard seat he concentrated on the sounds around him. "There's a woman, about five foot five in front of me. She smells of coconut and strawberries. To the left and in back of me there's something ticking. A clock rather than a bomb I'm hoping." He chuckled softly. This was_ almost_ fun. For the next few minutes he told Marissa everything that he heard; he tossed in a few more things that he smelled for good measure.

"You've done very well with these exercises," Marissa complimented. "Now's the time that we get down to the work we should have been doing since your first day here."

"Remember, I'm doing this under protest and with great reluctance. Still don't want the damn thing."

"Point made."

"I'm going to start you out with a rigid cane. Later you can go to one that either collapses or folds up so that you don't have to worry so much about where to stow it when you're out and about or at work." She paused for a moment. "We'll start with this one." He heard her grab something from near the wall. Then something brushed against his right hand. "We can adjust the length later if we need to."

"How do I use it?" Auggie asked as he took the unwanted cane into his hand.

"Hold your hand out like you're going to shake hands with a new friend. The handle goes across your palm and rests on your extended index finger. Curl your other fingers around it with your thumb pointing down the shaft. Keep your hand vertical."

Her soft hands positioned the cane into his and closed his fingers around it.

"Hello, friend," Auggie said sarcastically. "Now what?"

"Loosen up your grip a little. You don't need a death grip on it. Hold it about mid-line for now. Now swing the cane from side to side with pressure from your wrist and fingers. … The hand swings like a door with the hinge at the wrist. …. Sometime in the future this will all become second-nature and almost an unconscious motion. "

"Like this?" Auggie made a motion with the cane.

"Yes. A little wider. The arc should be a bit wider than your shoulders."

Auggie moved the cane back and forth in front of him several times getting the feel of it.

"That's it. Now we're going out in the hallway so that you can walk up and down for a few minutes to get the hang of using the cane."

Once in the long corridor, Marissa further instructed him in the use of the white cane. "Okay, as you step out on your left foot, tap right; as you step with your right, tap left. When your body is in motion the cane needs to be also. It's going to tell you if your next step is safe."

Auggie concentrated on swinging the cane from side to side as he walked slowly down the hallway.

"Good," Marissa complimented. "You're getting the hang of it. Now turn around and head back this way."

He stopped and did a nice military-style pivot and continued back up the hall to where Marissa waited.

"Very good," she said. "Come here next to me," she commanded softly. "I want to check something." She positioned him with his back against the wall. "Now stride across the hall with your normal gait."

He did as he was instructed and pulled up short when the cane collided with the opposite wall.

"Now, carefully take one more step."

He did and came face-to-face with the wall.

"That's what I thought. Come back to this side of the hall. You need a longer cane. When your cane comes in contact with an object you should be able to stop on your next step and have room to take one more full stride before your body collides with said object and still have a few inches to spare."

The door to Marissa's training room opened and a few moments later the cane was taken from his hand and replaced with another. "When you gain confidence in traveling with the cane and gain speed and regain a more normal stride you may need an even longer one, but this will do for now."

For the next half-hour or so, Auggie and Marissa wandered the corridors of the center as Auggie gained confidence with using the cane.

When the session with Marissa was over, he kept the cane with him as he went to his next lesson. Now that he was no longer in the tight grip of fear and panic, he started to feel more reflective, rather than just reactive.

He thought back on the CIA/Special Forces part of him whose life, and the lives of those in his charge, had depended on knowing and understanding every nuance of his surroundings. Was this really that much different?

He could use that training and experience - and the things Marissa was teaching him - to help him concentrate on getting as much information as possible, get his bearings, and move forward to the task at hand. Ha, how's that for words of wisdom? He cracked a small, wry smile. Maybe Lt. Anderson and CIA Officer Anderson were still there, after all.

* * *

If you're still with me, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Feed the muse.


	6. Of Mice and Keyboards

The muse is on a roll. For the moment anyway. We're getting closer to the Auggie we've come to love.

I tried to insert a link to the purple ALVA Satellite Refresheable Braille Display that Auggie has on the show, and is mentioned here, but the link would not come out right after I saved it. That sucker is around $10,000! Yes, Charles is quite well-off.

I keep forgetting that I do not own Covert Affairs or Auggie. They belong to USA and the awesome Christopher Gorham.

Thanks again to resourceress7 (Marisa Bennett) for her invaluable assistance.

* * *

Chapter Six - Of Mice and Keyboards

Ever since Jane – the infuriating woman had a name – had literally made him crawl, Auggie had become less frightened of his not being able to see. He had learned a lot that day – both about himself and about the world around him. And he was beginning to have confidence in his ability to differentiate various locations in the building by smells and sounds, and different people by their scents, footsteps, and voices. Not only that, he was also starting to see the cane as a useful tool that had kept him out of trouble on more than one occasion.

Now he was on his way to a surprise. Or so Jane had called it. He was supposed to have met her in her office five minutes ago, but he'd gotten involved in his Braille lesson, and lost track of time.

As he turned into the corridor leading to her office, he stopped for a minute and listened intently. Jane was coming down the hallway toward him with a male voice that he did not recognize. He wondered if he was the surprise, or at least delivering it to him.

"Auggie," Jane said brightly, "I'd like you to meet my husband, Charles."

"Nice to meet you, Charles," Auggie said as he quickly shifted his cane into his left hand and stuck out his right. He was momentarily flustered by the action when he remembered that Jane had said her husband was blind.

"Nice to meet you, too, Auggie," Charles said as he grasped Auggie's offered hand. Auggie hadn't been expecting a firm handshake in return. Or at least not that quickly.

Jane must have seen the puzzled look on his face as she stage whispered, "I gently guided Charles' hand into yours."

"For which I thank her. It's a bit awkward otherwise," Charles said lightly, without a trace of embarrassment.

"We need to go to the library," Jane piped in. "Auggie, do you know how to get there from here?"

"Sure," Auggie said with confidence. He'd been there many times in the last week. He much preferred staying in his room listening to audio books he found in the library, to hanging out in the residents' lounge. At this time there were no residents he could really relate to; most were much older than him, and had lost their sight due to gradual eye conditions later in life.

Once they had reached the library, Jane vocally guided Auggie to a smaller office to one side of the main room. Auggie opened the door and entered, his cane sweeping from side to side before him until it struck what sounded like a chair. He stepped closer to it and felt around the area a bit. On the tabletop in front of the chair, he located what seemed to be a computer keyboard.

"Yes, Auggie," Jane said almost before he could react, "it's a keyboard. We're in the Center's computer room."

"Jane said that you were skeptical about a blind person using a computer effectively. I volunteered to come and show you that it is possible. Takes some specialized software and accessories, but it is very doable."

Charles walked up to where Auggie was standing and took a seat in the next chair over. "Sit. I'll show you how."

Auggie pulled out the chair and sat beside Charles. His curiosity was in high gear.

"Jane tells me that you're into computers?"

"Yeah, I have a degree in Computer Science and Electrical Engineering. I was a Security Consultant for the government before they called me back up and sent me to Iraq." It wasn't a complete lie, but it was enough to, hopefully, show just how 'into' computers he had been.

"Jane, hon', make sure the door's closed. I don't want to disturb those in the other room with the computer's voice." Behind him he heard the latch click. "Okay, Auggie, go ahead and explore what's on the table in front of you. Tell me what you've located."

"There's a standard keyboard on some sort of raised platform with buttons on it," Auggie said as his fingers examined the keyboard he'd located a few minutes ago.

"That's a highly specialized piece of technology called a refreshable Braille display. This particular model is an ALVA Satellite, made by a company called Optelec. I have one in my office that the firm bought for me. And I have one at home that I bought for myself. They're quite pricey, but well worth the cost if you're in a job that uses computers a lot." Auggie felt the keyboard shift position to his left, and then Charles' hands locate his. "Lay your hands on top of mine and I'll give you a quick tour."

Auggie did as he was instructed. For the next few minutes he listened to Charles explain the use of the keypads that controlled the onscreen cursor, and the thumb keys that controlled the Braille display and other features. As Charles' hands landed on each item, Auggie slid his fingertips down to examine them.

Shortly, Charles tilted his hand and Auggie took that as a sign to remove his hands from the back of Charles'. He immediately heard a soft click and the sound of a desktop computer humming to life. Before long, a monotone computer voice came from the speakers to his right and left, telling him that the computer was booting. Then it announced the main screen had been reached.

Auggie then heard clicks on the keypad and the voice reciting what he assumed to be the program icons on the screen, stopping at 'Internet Explorer'. A few more clicks from the keypad and he heard the voice say 'G-O-O-G-L-E-period-C-O-M.'

"What would you like to look up?"

Auggie was so impressed that he momentarily couldn't think of anything. Then he had an idea. "August David Anderson." It had been a while since he'd searched his own name. Behind him he heard Jane giggle in amusement.

"Ok, type it in," Charles said. The voice relayed the letters in his name as Auggie typed them in, and it even said 'enter' as he pressed that key. Charles showed him which keys to press to toggle through the search results, and he listened to the computer recite each one. Lots of results, but none that matched him. Secretly he was pleased that nothing came up. CIA security at its best. He was but a ghost in the real world still.

For the next – he wasn't quite sure how long it was – Auggie sat fascinated by the way that Charles was able to navigate all sorts of sites and programs. He was slightly surprised when Charles mentioned that not all web pages were fully accessible to the screenreaders, despite a law that said they must be. Charles had then gone on to explain the simple steps it took – little things like adding alt text to images and captions or transcripts of audio/video files – to make them accessible.

By the time Charles was done with his discourse, Auggie was feeling that maybe it was possible for him to regain some of what he'd thought that he'd lost now that he could no longer see the monitor. But that voice - he wondered how long it would take for it to completely annoy him.

"Doesn't that monotonous voice get to you?" he suddenly asked.

"Sometimes. That's where the Braille display comes in. Here let me show you."

Auggie felt Jane lean over him and move his hands. "Here's that area again."

After a moment Auggie's fingers felt the bumps of the Braille cell fly by his fingertips. He felt his heart sink. Would he ever get proficient fast enough to use that? "Can you slow down the speed of the display?"

"Of course. Remember where I said the control for that was?" Charles asked softly, without reproach. "You can read it a line at a time, then hit this key and the next line will pop right up."

"Oh, Duh." Auggie said lightly, remembering and allowing his thumb to locate the control on the front of the device. "That's better," he said, and was finally able to discern a few words with much effort.

"My Braille is a bit rusty."

"Huh?" Charles and Jane exclaimed nearly in unison.

"When I was a kid my best friend in scouts and I studied all sorts of codes for a badge in communication. We were fascinated by the way that Louis Braille adapted Charles Barbier's Night Writing into a usable form, and in the patterns inherent in the way that each letter and punctuation mark was laid out. We used to write secret notes to each other by making little dots with a pencil on paper. It's been a while, but I can still remember what a lot of the symbols look like. The shape of the letter T always made me think of a crooked little cactus."

"So, you're somewhat familiar with it then," Jane said more as a statement than a question.

"Yeah. Never thought that I'd ever have to use it for real, though," he said sadly and with a slight tinge of anger.

"When we're kids we never think anything bad is ever going to happen to us," Charles acknowledged.

"Yeah." Auggie sighed. "How long did it take you to become competent with this computer setup?" Auggie asked changing the subject.

"Not long. A couple of weeks, but then I was already a proficient Braille reader by the time that this sort of thing came into being."

"How long have you been without your sight?" Auggie asked. He still had trouble with the term BLIND, especially as it referred to himself.

"I've been blind longer now than I ever had my sight. I'm blind, Auggie. It's just a word. It describes a state of being. It's not a bad word. The term does not offend me.

"I'd just turned twenty-one when I started having trouble with my vision. Nothing serious, but I had it checked out. Turned out I had a brain tumor that was starting to grow around the optic chiasm, where both optic nerves come together. By the time they were able to operate I knew that there was only a forty percent chance that I'd come out of surgery with my vision intact. Of course I was hopeful, but I was also a pragmatist. I wanted to be prepared emotionally to be blind when I came out of anesthesia. Even if the tumor hadn't been removed I was going to be blind eventually. The only good thing, at that time, was that the tumor was benign.

"I had to heal and regain my strength after the surgery, but even while I was recuperating I had lessons in Braille and Activities of Daily Living at home. I was still living with my parents, and they were wise enough not to baby me. Sometimes I thought that they pushed me too hard too soon to become independent. I was young and I didn't exactly relish some of the changes I had to make, but I made them. Yes, there were days when I wanted to give up, but I didn't. I was able to get on with my education and only missed one semester. I was a Political Science major and had always wanted to go on to law school. So my life plans weren't drastically derailed. Not as much as Jane tells me that yours seems to be."

"Maybe not as much as I thought. Is there a way to represent every possible character in Braille, for computer programming?"

"Yes, actually there's a standard Computer Braille Code, a Braille ASCII Code, and some codes that make use of the extra two dots at the bottom of the Braille cell. Once you get standard Braille down, you should have little trouble learning them. Most Braille displays support the eight-dot format, even if you just use it to indicate where the flashing cursor is in your document."

Auggie pondered for a moment, the gears turning as he thought of all the things Braille and computers could let him do again.

"Oh," Charles continued, "and there are smaller, more portable devices with Braille displays that you can connect to other devices." He dug into a bag for something. "Here's one called a Braillenote - it's a PDA with Braille and speech output, Bluetooth, Wi-Fi, and USB connectivity. I use it to keep up with my calendar, take notes, read books and other large digital files, use the internet, and it can even connect to my cell phone, and send documents to printers and Braille embossers if I want hard copies," he said as he placed it in Auggie's hand.

It was only about four by seven inches - much smaller than the ALVA, because it did not require a QWERTY keyboard. Instead, it had the 10 or so keys required to enter Braille characters. He sat entranced once again as Charles showed him how it worked. "Awesome!" was all that Auggie could say.

He spent the rest of the morning talking to Charles about many things that he was either curious about, or still downright frightened of. When the three left to head to the dining room for lunch, Auggie had a better attitude about a lot of things.

He knew that he really had to buckle down on a number of skills and tools that he'd only been playing around with in the last few weeks. Instead of drudgery that he had to get through, those things finally seemed valuable - they mattered. These were skills he would actually be using in real life. _Ugh, real life_. This was real. It was still hard to think of himself as being a blind person now and forever. But at least now he saw some possibilities for his next steps. He would make a life for himself, one way or another.

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**Feed the muse?**


	7. Surprise!

Sorry about the length of time it's taken to update. Lots has gone on and just didn't get it edited like I'd wanted.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything but my plotline.

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Chapter Seven – Surprise!

As Auggie approached the main lobby of the facility, on his way to the center's small gym, he heard voices raised in anger. A few more paces down the hall and he recognized his father's unmistakable baritone. He seemed to be arguing with the center's receptionist.

"Why will you not let me see my son? I've flow halfway across the country to see him!"

"As I've told you, you are not on his approved visitors list."

_Oh, crap _was his first thought. His second was to turn around and head for the library room. He wasn't ready for this; and he simply wanted to hide. Why he didn't fully understand, but that was his immediate gut reaction. Before he could turn and disappear, he heard his mother exclaim, "There he is Fred!"

With as much air of confidence as he could muster, Auggie continued towards his parents, cane clearing the way before him. He paused near one of the couches scattered in this area of the building and braced himself for whatever was to come.

"August," his mother said as she approached, "how are you?" He could hear the sorrow in her voice. He'd wanted desperately to save her from that. She was a strong woman, had to have been to have successfully raised five lively boys; but she could be squishy on the inside, too. He knew that seeing him like this was tearing her apart. He was broken, and no amount of motherly attention could make him whole again. Not this time

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm fine," he said with as much conviction as he could gather as he slightly bent his head and kissed the top of her head as she wrapped her arms around him. At the moment he was anything but fine. He'd hoped for more time to prepare for this meeting. He'd known that he could not avoid it forever, but he'd wanted more time to get comfortable in this new world of his before he had to face them. On a very base level he was afraid of how they would react to him now. Would they reject him? Hell, if they were going to do that they wouldn't have flown halfway across the continent to see him. And, he did not know what he would say if his mother insisted on his coming back to Glencoe permanently. He'd just gained a little bit of independence back, and he did not want to relinquish that hard gained progress.

"Auggie," his dad boomed as he clutched him in a firm embrace.

"Hi, Dad. How did you know where to find me?"

"Alan finally told us what happened and where you were."

Auggie let the sigh of exasperation escape. He would deal with Alan next time he saw him. "How long have you known?"

"We had a feeling something wasn't right with you for several weeks. It wasn't like you to not be in touch with one of us for this long without letting us know that you'd not be in a position to contact us. Alan finally fessed up three days ago." Alfred whispered into his youngest son's ear, "Don't be too hard on him. He did not give you up willingly."

Auggie finally extracted himself from his father's bear hug. He flinched slightly when yet another set of arms surrounded him. "How's it going, bro?"

"Adam? Who else is here?" Auggie asked with growing apprehension.

"Just me, Auggie," his sister-in-law Olivia said as she wormed her way in to wrap her arms around him, too.

_Christ. _Auggie thought as he felt four pairs of eyes studying him. He was not at all prepared for this much family all at once. He wished he'd had a bit of warning that they were coming. He did not like this kind of surprise. Never had; and especially not now.

"Is there somewhere where we can all go to sit down and talk?" his father asked firmly. "How about your room here?'

"This is the visitor's lounge. My room is too small to hold all of us. And the resident's lounge is not available at the moment."

"Are you allowed to leave here?" Adam asked suddenly.

"I – I guess so," Auggie stammered. He choked down the wave of panic that suddenly wanted to engulf him. "I've never been out without one of the trainers with me," he stated flatly. He didn't really know what to say. Or do.

"That settles that," Adam said confidently. "We're going to take you out to dinner, and have a nice long talk."

Auggie was cornered and he knew it. "Give me a few minutes? I've got to go freshen up a bit. Have a seat and wait for me here. Please," he added the please more as a plea that out of politeness. As he left the lobby, he once again felt four pairs of eyes following him. Halfway down the main hall, he passed Marissa's office – not her training room, but her private office. With a fervent hope, he stopped and knocked on her door.

"Yes," he heard her say from beyond the door. A small bit of relief swept over him.

"Marissa. It's Auggie. Can I talk to you for a minute? I've got a huge problem that I'm not sure how to handle."

The door opened. "Come in Auggie. There's a chair just there to your right."

Auggie located the chair and sat. Without waiting for her to ask what he needed, Auggie's words tumbled out, "My family's here and they want to take me out to dinner. I'm not sure what to do. Can you help? Please."

"Okay. Who's come to visit you?" He felt her reassuringly touch the hand resting on his knee.

"My parents. My eldest brother and his wife. They want to take me out of here to dinner and to have a talk. I'm nervous about the whole deal. If I know them, we're not going to the local diner, but to one of the nicer places in town. I have no freakin' idea what to do here. I don't want to make a damn fool of myself."

"Auggie, calm down. It's not the end of the world. You have the basic skills you need to handle yourself in this situation." She paused for a brief moment then added gently, "You wouldn't be this flustered if you'd included them in your re-training from the beginning."

"You might be right, but when I made my decision to come here rather than closer to my family, I had my reasons. I'll admit that maybe I wasn't exactly thinking straight when I made that decision, but, once I was thinking clearer, it still seemed to be the right thing to do. And now they're here." He took a deep breath and slowly let it out through pursed lips.

"Would you like me to give them some pointers on your care and feeding?" Her words might have seemed lighthearted, but there was sincerity behind them.

"Would you? I've got to go and change into something more appropriate than these fatigues."

"Of course. By the time you get back to the lobby they'll know basic sighted guide technique and how to appropriately let you know where things are on the table and your plate. Will that be enough?"

"Gawd, I hope so," he said fervently.

"Oh, did I give you a folding cane to try yet?"

"Yeah, if I can remember where I laid it down I was going to use that."

A short time later, after he'd changed into his jeans and a polo shirt, Auggie was once again making his way down the main hall toward the lobby, and his waiting family, when Marissa stopped him.

"Auggie."

"Marissa. Did you talk to them?"

"Yes. They were very receptive to what I had to say. It seems that they're just as nervous about this meeting as you are," she said firmly. "Adam understands sighted guide concept the best and I think he'd be the least likely to allow you to smack into something unexpected. But I urge you to use your skills and keep yourself safe. Don't let any of them just take your hand to lead you. Tell them you need to take their arm instead."

"I will. How do they look?"

"Your mom is clearly anguished. Your dad is upset, too, but there seems to be some anger there, also. Your brother is concerned, but he seems to be the one in charge. I couldn't read your sister-in-law."

"Olivia has always been hard to read, except when she's mad. Takes a lot to get her angry, but if you do, you'd better look out," he smiled at the remembered vision of an irate Olivia. "Yeah, Adam's always been the take charge kind." He knew that his mom would be upset – a mother would be. He didn't quite know what to make of his father's anger. Like Olivia, he was slow to anger, but a force to be reckoned with when he was.

"Auggie, you can do this." Marissa straightened his collar as she spoke. "I have confidence in you. Remember, they're family. I have no reason to believe that they'll treat you with anything other than care and respect. Your file indicates that you come from a stable and loving family. Do you have any reason to suspect that they would do anything to deliberately harm or embarrass you? Is that why you didn't want to include them in your rehab plan?"

"No. Adam may have tormented me unmercifully when we were kids, but since we've become adults he's mellowed a good deal. I have no reason to think that they would do anything to deliberately embarrass me. I'm just afraid that I'll embarrass them."'

"You can do this. Now take a deep breath and go have a good time with your family."

He took several deep breaths to steel his nerves and proceeded into a different sort of unknown.

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Please read and review. The muse needs to know if you want this story to continue.


	8. Wanted: Dead? or Alive?

For those still following this story and wanting to know what happens at dinner. Don't expect the next chapter to be available this quickly, but I hope not to make you wait too long. It's in very rough shape and may take a while to get it into a shape I feel like sharing.

Once again, my thanks to Resourceress7 (Marisa Bennett) for her thoughts and corrections.

Disclaimer: Auggie belongs to USA Network's Covert Affairs writers. I just like taking him out of the box and playing around with him.

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Chapter Eight – Wanted: Dead? Or Alive?

"Are you sure you okay with this," Adam asked as he led Auggie towards the waiting rental car. He'd sent everyone else on ahead to the vehicle.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Auggie replied. "Why do you ask?"

"You've had that deer-in-the-headlights-look ever since we arrived."

Auggie closed his eyes and sighed softly. "Okay. Truth is: I _am _a bit nervous. This is all new to me and I'm kind of afraid that I'll embarrass myself."

Adam stopped short and turned to face his brother. "Are you forgetting that this is new to us, too? You've had what – a month? Five weeks? – to start adjusting to being blind. It's been three days since we learned that our baby brother, and son, was blinded in Iraq. Don't you think that we're nervous, too? I'm in charge of keeping my youngest brother safe tonight and I don't want to blow that either."

A wry smile briefly flitted across Auggie's face. His always-in-control big brother was admitting to being nervous about something. He never thought he'd see the day. "Just don't walk me into a wall, or let me trip over a chair and I'll be fine. Let's go and get this over with," he said lightly. "I'm glad you're driving and not me."

Adam made a brief annoyed sigh and Auggie could just imagine that he was rolling his eyes, too.

After what seemed to be twice as long as it should have taken to drive into Reston, Auggie asked, "Where are we going? You're not kidnapping me back to Illinois are you?"

"According to the directions she gave me, we're almost there. Your friend Marissa suggested the Olive Garden in Sterling. Oh, there it is, up on the right." Adam said with relief.

The Olive Garden in Sterling, Virginia – he'd been there several times before on dates. The one in Tyson's Corner had been closer, but it was tucked away in the basement of an office building and he liked the lake view of this one better. He'd even brought Natasha there a couple of times. Mentally he reviewed their menu – what of the multitude of offerings would he best be able to handle without making a fool of himself? And he tried to recall the layout of the place: foyer, hostess station, bar and restrooms. It had been a while and his memory of the inside layout was sketchy at best.

Auggie felt the car take a slow, sharp turn and then come to a stop. When he heard the other doors open, he opened the front passenger door and stepped out. Shaking out his cane, the folded sections snapped into place; he tapped it twice on the asphalt to make sure the sections were securely locked together. He listened intently to what was happening around him. He heard car doors closing, including the one beside him. A hand tapped the back of his left hand and he followed Adam's strong forearm up to grasp it just above the elbow. Since his brother was a novice sighed guide, Auggie kept his cane angled diagonally in front of him, its tip skimming the ground. Adam led him toward the rear of the car then they made a sharp left turn.

After a few more paces, Adam pronounced, "Door. I'm opening it out to the right" Auggie swept his cane to the right over the textured concrete and located the opened door. Keeping his left hand latched onto Adam's arm, Auggie shifted his cane to hold it pinched between the base of his thumb and the inside edge of his right hand, so he could press his fingers against the door to keep it open as he walked through.

Once inside Alfred Anderson requested a table for five away from the rest of the early diners. Adam led Auggie and the others to the table and placed Auggie's hand on the back of the chair. As he assessed the chair and sat, Auggie heard Adam settle in to the seat to his left. Until they spoke, Auggie would not be sure who had taken the seat to his right. He pulled his cane apart and wrapped the elastic cord around it and laid it to his right on the table. As surreptitiously as he could Auggie's fingers assessed the table in front of him. He located his wrapped flatware and what he took to be a menu_. Lot of good that did him_.

"Round table?" he whispered to Adam as he felt the contour of the edge of the table.

"Yeah. Mom's to your right," Adam whispered back. "Dad's to her right and Livie's to my left. There's one empty seat almost straight across from you."

Adam ordered a magnum of the house Rosato and an appetizer platter for the table. In a moment of careless abandon, Auggie picked up the laminated menu from the table and flipped it open as if he were still able to read it.

"August, what are you doing?" his mother asked suddenly, confusion evident in her tone.

"Pretending I can still read a menu," he calmly replied. The flicker of a smile floated across his lips.

"Why are you doing that?" she asked.

"Aren't the rest of you perusing your menus? Just wanted to fit in," he said dryly.

He felt the menu being tugged from his hands. "It would help the image a bit if you didn't have it upside down," Adam said, replacing the menu between Auggie's hands.

Auggie shook his head. "So much for that illusion." He smiled and winked in what he hoped was his mother's direction as he placed the menu back on the table.

"Auggie, do you want me to read the menu to you?" Abigail asked her son softly.

"No, Mom. I've been to an Olive Garden before. I know what I'd like for my dinner, the Lasagna Classico. I had considered the spaghetti, but I've always wound up with more of it on my lap than anywhere else. I'm sure that this," he waved his right hand in front on his eyes, "won't help that much."

"August!" his father exclaimed softly. "That wasn't necessary."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, Mom," he said in mock apology. "Just trying to lighten the mood. Ever since you came to the rehab center you've been acting like somebody died."

"Have not," Adam chimed in.

"Have too," Auggie quickly came back.

"Have not," Adam stated again.

Just as Auggie was about to reply with another 'Have too' when Alfred Anderson commanded, "Boys that will be quite enough."

"Yes, sir," the brothers said in unison, nudging each other with an elbow.

The opportunity for further brotherly banter ended when the server came back with the wine and took their food orders. He returned again in a few minutes with the appetizer platter and then a few minutes later with the salad bowl and breadsticks.

When the appetizer platter arrived, Adam served Auggie and told him what was on the plate before him. He also poured Auggie a glass of the wine and described its location according to the clock face, like Marissa had explained.

The smell of the food in front of him tantalized Auggie. He was very pleased that everything was finger foods for the moment. He located and popped a stuffed mushroom into his mouth, fully savoring its flavor, then a moment later a fried zucchini quickly followed. And, although it was not his beverage of choice, even the wine was good.

He was setting his wine glass back down when his hand collided with what could only be his mother's arm.

"Mom, what are you doing?" he asked with alarm.

"Just serving you some salad," she replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, okay." It took a bit of self-control for him not to chastise his mother and let her know that he was perfectly capable of serving himself from the salad bowl. It might have been a bit awkward, but he could have done it. Then he heard his father tell her 'thank you' and understood that she'd dished him out some of the salad also. She hadn't served him because she didn't think that he could do it for himself. For that he was relieved.

A moment later he heard something clatter to the floor beside him. "What was that?" he asked quickly. He hadn't felt his arm brush against anything.

"I'm sorry, August. I knocked your cane off the table. I'll get it for you."

"That's okay, Mom. I'll get it later when we're ready to leave."

"You're sure you won't forget it."

"No, Mom. I won't forget it. Right now it's my best friend."

"Huh?" Those at the table responded almost in unison.

"That's what Marissa, my mobility instructor, calls it. Keeps me from running into trouble, and it comes with me almost everywhere."

As they ate the mood was tense, but light conversation ensued. Adam and Olivia caught Auggie up on the doings of his nieces and nephew; his mom caught him up on the rest of the family. His father was strangely quiet during the meal. Auggie was quietly pleased that some of his new-found skills had kept him from looking too inept under the scrutiny of his family.

"Why so silent, Dad?" Auggie finally inquired. "You said that you all wanted to talk to me, and I don't think that catching me up on the doings of the rest of the family was what you meant. Now, what was it that you wanted to talk about and who are you still mad at? Me?"

"A little I guess," Alfred said with sadness. "Why did you not let Alan tell us you'd even been hurt? Why did you check into a rehabilitation facility so far from home when the Hines VA is just an hour away? Why were you hiding from us? Why did you have to volunteer to go back to Iraq? Isn't it bad enough that we had one son in a battle zone? Why did you have to go back and then get hurt? Don't you realize what all of the worry about her two sons in harm's way has done to you mother?" At each question he became louder and more agitated.

"Calm down, Fred," Abigail commanded. She reached out and touched her son's right hand

"Please, Dad," Auggie said firmly. "One question at a time. I'm an adult, but Mom worried about me when I was working in D.C. It's what mothers do. I realize that no matter how old I get, I'll always be her baby.

"When I was given the option of places to come to learn how to cope with my new situation I wanted to be somewhere close to home. My home – Washington D.C. I didn't want Alan to tell you and I hid because I didn't want anyone to see me in the state that I was in then. It was more of a gut reaction, sort of like an injured animal crawling off to lick its wounds until it either died or was well enough to rejoin the pack. Seeing me like that would have hurt Mom way more than not knowing where I was for a few weeks.

"When I was offered the job to go back to Iraq I didn't know that Alan was going to be there, too. But even if I had I'm not sure that would have changed my decision. I thought that I was going back over to make a difference in getting our guys back home in one piece. I had no idea that I wouldn't come home that way. I could have come home in a flag-draped box. Would you rather that? Would you?" Despite his attempt to stay calm, Auggie's voice rose in the end.

"Auggie, calm down," his mother said patting his hand. "Of course we don't want you dead. Why would you even think that?"

"I don't know, Mom. Just the irrational musings of a delirious mind?" He was perfectly aware of why he'd asked. He was now damaged goods. He needed to know that his family still accepted his as the less than whole person they'd raised. In his heart he knew that his father would never be as proud of him as his three older wealthy and highly successful brothers. But that was okay; he had always been happy with who he'd turned out to be, and now knew that eventually he would be able to get back into computer programming – something he'd loved to do since college. He could still be that person. Parts of him would be different now, but he was still the person that he'd been before the IED had claimed his sight.

"Dad?" Auggie looked toward the place he thought that his father sat.

"Of course I don't wish you dead. I just wish that you hadn't gotten hurt."

_Damaged goods_, Auggie heard himself think the phrase again.

His dad paused for a moment, then continued. "That didn't come out quite the way that I meant. Yes, I do wish that you hadn't been injured over there, but you were, but it doesn't make a difference. I still love you," he said as he rose to come and put his arms around Auggie. As his father pressed his cheek against his own, Auggie felt wetness on his father's cheek.

"Why are you crying, Dad?" He could not recall a single time when his father had cried in public.

"Because you are here, mostly in one piece, and seem to be coping with your new world quite well."

"I'm doing better now than I was a few weeks ago, but not as well as I'm told I will be in the future."

"What are your plans for the future," his mother asked as she pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. He felt tears on her face, too.

"Well, they said I'll be at the rehab center close to sixteen weeks. I've got another ten or so to go. When I'm done I'm told I'll be ready to work and live independently. I hope they know what they're talking about."

"If, for some reason, that's not the case, there's always room in our house for you," his mother said softly.

"Or with us," Olivia stated firmly.

"Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I hope not to have to take you up on the generous offers," he said confidently. He was both pleased and confused that no one was insisting that he come back to Glencoe. "Do you think that sometime before I'm out of the center, Austin could come out for a few days? There's some stuff that I need to get rid of and I'd just as soon have him help me."

"Like what?" Adam asked. "I can stay on for a few extra days if you need me to."

"Thanks, but, I think Tony or Austin would be better at this. And of the two I figure that Austin would be the most willing. Power of Attorney and some other legal stuff are probably going to be needed."

"What on earth are you getting rid of that you'll need all of that?" his mother asked with surprise.

"My car and motorcycle. I won't be using them anymore, and I don't want to be taken advantage of when they're sold. Austin would be good at giving test drives and negotiating a decent price."

There was a quiet moment when everyone seemed to ponder the weight of what Auggie had just said. He'd never drive again – never see again – and the world might not always be friendly to a blind man.

"Hey, Did I tell you about all the cool computer equipment I'm learning to use? I can do everything without needing a mouse or a screen!" Auggie continued a few moments later.

The tension and somber reflection now starting to dissipate, Auggie and his family eased into more pleasant conversation, punctuated by a few bursts of table-wide laughter.

When he returned to his room later that evening, Auggie felt a peace that he'd not had since he'd woken up blind. A large weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Even though they might not have agreed with his hasty decisions, they had accepted them. And, more importantly, they had accepted him. Adam had begun to tease and joke with him just as he always had – no holds barred. He knew that his parents had reservations about his future, but they were going to be okay with his muddling through on his own for a while.

Of all the things that he would remember about this day, it would be Adam's attempt to make a blind joke when he'd misjudged where his water glass was and knocked it over. Auggie was not offended in the least; his heart had soared at his brother's apparent easy acceptance of the new August David Anderson.

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Please read and review. Let me know what you think of my version of this part of Auggie's family.


	9. Auggie Walks Into Trouble

I'm so sorry that this chapter has taken so long to post. It was a challenge to get it to the point that I liked it. Still not 100% what I'd hoped it to be, but I'm tired of looking at it. :-)

And then my Beta's life got in the way of her reviewing it for me. I hate to post before she's had her say.

Thanks to Resourceress7 for her corrections and input.

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Chapter Nine – Auggie Walks into Trouble

Auggie's right index finger skimmed the page he was trying to read. The radio, still on the oldies station, to his side played softly.

Radio was better than nothing, but he missed his iPod. Even though he'd finally found the iPod nestled between the towels in his military duffel bag a few days ago, he had grown increasingly frustrated with trying to navigate to his beloved jazz playlists. The click wheel and menu screens just were not built for users who needed tactile and audio access. His first impulse had been to toss it against the wall, but had quickly thought better of that action. After all it wasn't the instrument's fault that he could no longer read its screen. But like him, it had been through enough and didn't deserve to be destroyed. Maybe the computer technology instructor could help him get his music files stored in another device.

He was ready for a break when the opening bars of Survivor's _Eye of the Tiger_ began to pulse out from the radio's speakers. He paused to listen to the lyrics.

_Risin' up, back on the street  
Did my time, took my chances  
Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet  
Just a man and his will to survive_

_So many times, it happens too fast_  
_You change your passion for glory_  
_Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past_  
_You must fight just to keep them alive …_

The beat and the lyrics of the Rocky III tune buoyed him. It was a song about survival, and, so far, he was surviving this trial that had unceremoniously been dumped upon him.

When the song ended and the DJ's prattle began, he turned his attention back to the Braille page before him. He knew that his economic survival might depend upon his becoming fluent in Braille. He was trying. But at times the translation of the tactile information into words, phrases, sentences, and ideas overwhelmed him. Some days, like today, it was frustratingly slow to register. He pushed on, willing his finger over the bumps on the page; willing his brain to make sense of what his finger was telling him.

Auggie had made his way through three more pages when a light knock on his door made him pause in his examination of the word he'd been trying to decipher.

"Come in, it's open," he called over his shoulder as he wondered which one of the trainers had come to find him this time. This week he was supposed to be in a wood shop class. As much as he understood the goals of the classes, he had not so politely declined to participate. Although his father had a very extensive wood shop in the garage of his boyhood home, it was not an activity that he'd joined his father in. He had much preferred to take computers and mechanical things apart to see how they worked. As long as he worked on other skills, he had been allowed out of the shop class.

A light floral scent tickled at his nose. Ah, Marissa, the one person he _was_ in a mood for. "How about blowing this Cracker Jack stand and going for a walk in the great outdoors?"

"It's stopped raining?" he questioned as his right hand felt along the side of the desk for his cane. He was more than willing to leave the confines of his room. His fingertips were getting numb from running across the bumps on the pages he'd been given to read. Braille sure was a lot harder to learn by touch than it had been years earlier when he'd studied it, and other codes, for the Eagle Scout badge. And, his brain was tired of trying to recall what each symbol his index finger detected meant. He had the basic alphabet and punctuation marks down pat, but the contractions of Grade 2 Braille gave him some problems.

"Yeah, the rain stopped sometime in the night and the sun's out. It's a beautiful day."

"Where are we going today?" This wasn't his first foray into the 'real' world, but it had been several days since he'd been out. A few days after his parents had flown back to Illinois, a tropical depression had stalled off the coast of the Carolinas and the weather in the greater DC area had been inclement for the last three days. He had thought of going out onto the grounds later in the day anyway, but a real walk in a real neighborhood was more than welcomed. He'd even welcome a walk along the business district of downtown Reston.

##########

Auggie walked down the narrow sidewalk, cane tapping a steady rhythm before him. He did not yet walk with confidence, but he was no longer the bundle of nerves that he had been the first time he'd been here. It was a quiet residential neighborhood of middle class homes with well-manicured lawns from the information that came to him from all of his senses.

On his left were low brick walls with metal gates, on his right were thick patches of grass between the sidewalk and the curb. He used the walls and the edge of the grass as shorelines, keeping him in the center of the walkway. He had been mildly amused and slightly confused when Marissa had first used the term. The only shoreline that he'd know was the one a few miles from his home where Lake Michigan met the land on its western boundary.

Roses bloomed in a bed to his left and across the street came sounds of hammering from up high—someone getting a new roof he guessed. At the end of this block was the main road into the subdivision.

He stopped and swung his cane to the left side until it struck the wall again. He stepped up to the wall and gingerly swept his arm from side to side. He sidestepped to his left and continued his search. His hand soon brushed against the silky softness of a rose in full bloom. He leaned in and breathed in the heady scent of the rose. "What color is the flower," he asked Marissa as she waited nearby.

"It's a deep red. Almost looks black," she quietly responded. "Behind it is a pale yellow one."

"How many bushes are in this bed? Are they all different colors?"

"Just these two close to the wall. Looks like there might have been a third to your right at some point, but it's gone now."

Auggie sat on the wall. "Mom has a huge flower bed back in Glencoe. She likes roses, too. When I wasn't taking mechanical stuff apart, I liked to help her in her garden when I was younger. Always have liked the scent of roses. I'm glad that I can at least enjoy that about them."

"You can still help your Mom in the garden."

Auggie shrugged, "Yeah, I know. Like everything else, it'll just be different." He chuckled softly. "Is the house across the street getting a new roof?"

"Yeah. Good observation. Now shall we continue?"

"Yeah, I guess we can, slave driver." He smiled broadly as he stood. Centering himself on the sidewalk, he continued the few yards to the end of the block.

When he reached the curb cut at the intersection he paused. He listened intently for anything coming from any direction on the roads: cars, trucks, bicycles, motorcycles, or skateboards. Hearing nothing that sounded like any sort of danger to him, he squared himself to the curb, put his cane in motion and stepped off onto the asphalt roadway.

"Auggie! Stop! Don't take another step!" Marissa yelled in a clearly panicked voice after he'd taken but two steps forward.

He stopped short as he heard the squeal of brakes to his immediate right. He swept his cane before him. It collided in mid-sweep with what could only be the front bumper of a car but a foot in front of him. Next thing he knew he'd raised his cane and smacked it down on the hood of the offending vehicle. The vibration from the hit stung his hand. He quickly adjusted his grip on the cane and shook it in the direction of the driver who had now lowered the window and mumbled a "Sorry."

To which Auggie screamed," See this? It's a freakin' white cane! It means that I'm BLIND and YOU need to pay attention to me, 'cuz I can't exactly pay attention to you."

"Move on, lady," Marissa said tactfully from behind him. "But you really need to pay more attention when you pull in here, especially with as quiet a vehicle as your Prius. Remember the homeowners' association has given us permission to use this neighborhood as a training ground for our newly blinded veterans."

"Sorry, Ma'am. I'll try to pay more attention."

This time Auggie heard the vehicle pull away and moments later Marissa said, "Okay, Auggie, the way is clear now."

"Where the hell did she come from? I didn't hear a thing, or at least not anything I recognized as a definite vehicle coming at me."

"She was going slowly when she pulled around the corner off the main highway. These electric and hybrid cars are going to be hard to hear sometimes," Marissa said comfortingly.

"I probably shouldn't have slammed my cane on her hood, but …"

"It's okay, Auggie." She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. "If I were in your place I might have done the same thing. You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," Auggie said quietly. But he wasn't. The encounter had left him a bit shaken.

He took a deep cleansing breath and continued across the street. Once he'd located the intersecting sidewalks he turned left and continued toward the area where the center's van was parked.

When he judged that he was three-quarters of the way up the block, he cast his cane further into the median strip until it struck a firm metallic object – a fire hydrant. A few more paces and his cane located an opening in the grass. He heard the sound of doors being remotely unlocked and honed in on the sound. He located the van and eagerly searched for the passenger door. He quickly opened the door and settled onto the passenger seat. Only then did he allow his emotions to escape. His hands were shaking as he pulled his folding cane apart and then reached for the door handle to pull the door closed. Shortly he heard the driver's side door open and Marissa settle herself behind the wheel.

"It's okay, Auggie. Whatever you're feeling let it out. You've had a close encounter through no fault of our training or of your own inexperience."

"Scared the crap out of me," he said uncomfortably. "I thought that I'd worked past most of the fear. I don't like the idea of living in fear for the rest of my natural life. Tell me it gets better."

"It can. It's up to you."

"There is so much that I can't see. I'm blind, Marissa. Blind because of some damn terrorist with a vendetta against Americans." He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to keep his anger from escalating.

"I know, Auggie, I know. Life can be so very unfair at times. You've made great strides in the last few weeks. Actually, you're quite a bit ahead of where we thought that you'd be at this point. Some things might not be coming together for you quite the way you'd like, but overall you're doing great. Don't let this unfortunate encounter set you back."

"I'll try not to let it. Just showed me how vulnerable I really am."

"You're stronger than you think. And the skills you're learning will lead to greater self-confidence in your abilities."

"Yeah, okay. I just hope I don't have another experience like today anytime soon."

"I think that when you're out and about you'll find that most people will treat you well. Some may even want to be too helpful. You're going to have to learn how to politely say 'No thank you' so that well-meaning people don't grab you by your elbow and try to steer you somewhere you might not want to go. Remember, if you choose to allow someone to guide you, always take their elbow. Or, when you don't need a guide, tell them that you know where you're going and don't need any assistance, well-meaning or not."

"It's gonna take me a while to not need assistance out in the world."

"Oh, there will be plenty of times in unfamiliar environments where you decide to ask for help in knowing where to go. That's not weakness or lack of confidence - it's really part of taking responsibility for yourself and your safety."

Auggie pondered this for a minute, replied, "Heh, yeah, I wish I could ask all hybrid drivers to add jingle bells to their tires or something." This drew a light giggle from Marissa.

With a smirk, he realized he'd survived another obstacle in his path - literally. Look out, Rocky III, here comes Auggie II. Okay, no, that took corny to another level. He let out a soft chuckle.

* * *

Please review after you've read. The ego needs a little stroking this week.


	10. An Offer

Here's the next step in Auggie's journey. Hope that you like it.

I've been asked to give a timeline. He's roughly 7-8 weeks post trauma and 6-7 weeks into his training. In my timeline it's the last half of June 2008.

Once again I must acknowledge the corrections and suggestions that resourceress7 (Marisa Bennett) has made to this piece of fiction.

And, I must also acknowledge that I do not own any part of Covert Affairs, or Auggie or Joan Campbell. They belong to the writers of Covert Affairs. sigh The only one that I'd like to own is Auggie as played by the most awesome Christopher Gorham.

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Chapter Ten – An Offer

Ever since Charles had shown him the computer setup that made it possible for him to access computers and other technologies, he spent as much time as he couldin the computer lab, practicing with the voice-output screen reader and refreshable Braille display.

With the Internet literally at his fingertips, he could read about just about any topic of interest. With the option of using voice output to either preview or help confirm what he was reading in Braille, at least he could use accurate context information to decipher each Braille character. But it was going to take a lot of work to get to a point where he'd be able to read Braille as well as he used to read print. This was far more satisfying than the tedious pages of drills that the Braille instructor gave him to read.

Auggie sat with headphones only partially covering his ears. He liked to be able to hear what was going on around him as well as the computer's voice. His right index finger paused on the ALVA Braille display as he tried to discern the meaning of the symbol that he'd just located. From the context of the article and the letters surrounding it he thought that it must be the contraction for the letters T H E.

He was finally beginning to quickly discriminate the different simple alphabet letters from each other, and the symbol that turned A-J into numbers, as well as the basic punctuation symbols – what the instructor had told him was known as Grade 1, or uncontracted, Braille. That's kid stuff, and only beginners use it. He'd been advised that nearly all reading materials – books, magazines, menus, labels on doors and elevator buttons, and so on – are rendered in a contracted code called Grade 2 Braille. Since Braille takes up much more space than print, Grade 2 is more efficient to produce, and allows for increased reading speed over Grade 1. Most Braille users write in Grade 2 when using Braille equipment to produce text, whether in hard copy or electronic format.

But now that he was tackling Grade 2, Auggie found that the multitude of symbols for various words and letter combinations, and the rules for how to use them, were driving him nuts. He had to admit that the Braille instructor's lessons were great for learning things step by step, but Auggie was impatient with the amount of time that it was taking and wanted to get it down pat yesterday so that he could go on and learn the mathematics and computer Braille codes. With all of that, and his background and education, he felt that he might just be able to get a job in the real world and at least be able to earn some sort of a living.

He heard the computer lab door behind him open, grateful for the brief mental distraction.

"Auggie?" The questioning female voice sounded familiar, but at the moment, he could not place it.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, knowing that it might have been a blind resident who had asked.

"It's Joan, Auggie. May I come in?"

He searched his mind for a visualization of the Joans that he'd known, then had a glimmer of recognition. "Joan Campbell?"

"Yes, it's good to see you."

He stood from the table where he'd been sitting, turning toward the sound of her voice. He was embarrassed that he had not immediately known who she was and stammered, "Yes, of course, Joan. Please come in." A moment of uneasiness passed over him. What could have brought the head of the DPD out to see him? Absentmindedly, he ran his hands down the front of his jean-clad thighs.

"Come in. Have a seat," he said as he gestured towards the chair a little further down from him at the table. He heard Joan pull the chair out and settle into it. He slowly inched his right leg back until it connected with the seat of the chair he'd just risen from, and turned it to angle toward Joan. He sat and leaned forward slightly, forearms on his knees, hands loosely clasped, and head slightly bowed.

After a moment of awkward silence where Auggie practically felt her looking him up and down, she said, "You're looking better than I thought you might. How are you doing?"

"How did you expect me to look?" he asked warily. "The only thing that the damned IED messed up was my sight. The rest of me is just fine." He didn't mean his words to come out as harsh as they sounded to his ears.

"I didn't mean it that way. It's just… you look much more… relaxed than I thought that you'd be."

"It's been over six weeks now. This," he said, making a vague gesture in front of his face, "is beginning to feel 'normal'. I would still give anything not to be this way, but I am and there's not a damn thing I can do but learn to cope with it the best that I can. Some things are starting to become almost second-nature now, but it's not always easy."

"I'm glad to hear that you're starting to adjust. I'd heard that you were being … well … difficult."

"You did? Where did you hear that?" he couldn't keep the shock that she'd been checking up on him out of his voice.

"Even here the walls have ears," Joan said softly. "I was waiting for the right time to come and visit you. To see for myself how you were getting along. I went to Walter Reed to see you, but you'd already been released to here. I would have come here sooner, but I wanted to respect your privacy. When I learned that you didn't want family around, I figured that a boss wouldn't be high on the list either."

"So, why are you here now?" A troublesome nervousness was beginning to invade his mind again. What was her real agenda? Was she here to offer him his severance package? He'd been waiting for that to happen. What good was he now to the CIA?

"So that I knew that you were ready for the next step."

"And that is?" he asked guardedly, his curiosity now piqued.

"In the next few days, the Company psychiatrist will come to visit you. Please cooperate with her. Your future could depend on her assessment."

"My future?" Auggie couldn't keep the astonishment from his tone.

"There will be an opening coming up in the very near future. We are strongly considering you for it."

"What? Why?"

"You are being considered to head the Technical Support Operations section at the DPD," Joan stated confidently. "Your knowledge and the skills that you possess as Special Forces and as a former Field Officer are far too valuable for the Company to lose. We need to know if you are emotionally ready to step into the position now, or if we need to give you a few more weeks, or months, before you can assume your new duties. We need to know how long we have to get the new technology in place for you."

"Joan, don't!" he said brusquely. "What if I don't want your pity job? I may be blind now, but I do still have some pride."

"Is that what you think this position is?"

"Yeah," he whispered lowering his head uneasily. "What good am I to you now?" His hands were beginning to tremble with his growing discontent. He did not want her pity let alone that of the Company. Hadn't he spent long enough pitying himself?

He startled slightly at the light touch on his forearm. A firm touch under his chin raised his head.

"August Anderson," Joan said sharply, "this is not – I repeat NOT – a pity position. Did you not hear me a moment ago? We do not want to lose you. We thought that we had when we heard that you'd been involved in an IED explosion." She paused for a moment. "Sighted or blind, you are a valuable member of the Company. We WANT you back, Auggie. We want you back."

Those damn tears were threatening to flow again. He took a deep ragged breath. "Thanks, Joan," was all that he could say.

"Auggie?" Marissa asked from the doorway. "Is everything all right?"

He inhaled deeply once again, then shakily said, "Yes, Marissa. Everything is just fine."

"It's time for our excursion into town. Or, do we need to postpone it?"

"Joan, are we through here?"

"Yes, we can be," Joan said as she stepped away from him. "You're Marissa, the Orientation and Mobility specialist, right?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Is it okay for me to talk to her, in private, for a minute?" Joan asked.

"No. If you want to talk to her about me you can do it right here in front of me."

"Okay." He heard a rustle of fabric and the sound of Joan's heels on the tile floor as she took a few steps towards the door and Marissa. He heard Marissa enter the room and the door close behind her.

"When will you be taking Auggie into DC and to his apartment so that you can help him re-learn his way around in those environments?" Joan asked quietly.

"In the next week or so. Why?"

"He'll need one other location on that agenda. He'll need to re-learn his way around our company headquarters in Langley," Joan stated with confidence. "This information is classified. We've done a background check on you and you've been cleared to enter any area of the building that Auggie will need to know. You will have to sign confidentiality and non-disclosure statements."

"Joan, I haven't said that I'll take the job!" Auggie exclaimed defensively. The position was tempting, but he knew that he still had a lot to learn before even considering it – the Braille math and computer codes. His mind was swimming with expectation. And trepidation.

"You know that you'll take it. You're no fool,and you'd be one if you turned it down," Joan argued.

Auggie turned in his chair and slowly swept his hand along the side of the desk. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed and wanted to get out of the room. When he'd located the folded white cane that was between the edge of the ALVA display and the wall on the desk, he stood up. "Marissa, we have work to do. Joan, I was nice of you to stop by. I am no fool, but I have not yet decided if I want that job."

"Auggie," Joan sounded surprised.

Without another word, Auggie pushed past Marissa and out the door. He easily made his way through the outer room and when he reached that door he paused just long enough to shake his cane out and tap it twice on the floor to ensure that it was securely locked together. He then walked confidently down the hall cane tapping a deliberate cadence. He was at the same time thrilled to know that he had a job, and angry at the Agency for its role, albeit indirect, that led to his being blinded. Maybe if they hadn't refused his Close and Continuing with Natasha he wouldn't have fled to Iraq. He needed to think, but not right now. He needed to concentrate on his cane work out in the real world – the world that was beyond the walls of the rehab center. He'd lost time while he was being, as Joan had put it – difficult.

As he made his way down the now very familiar hall, his mind drifted to the Braille he'd been focused on before Joan showed up. He felt his jaw clench with determination has he vowed silently that he would master Grade 2 and the computer codes before he moved back to DC. He knew that literacy and computers were the keys to his survival, both personal and professional, in whatever he made of his new life. Joan had introduced an option that hadn't occurred to him before: Tech Ops. But would he even want to be back there, knowing he could never be a Field Officer again?

* * *

I know that some of you want to see more of Auggie's humor. I tried, but this chapter didn't lend itself to much ot it. I tried to have him be witty and sarcastic with Joan, but it just didn't work for me. I hope that you'll find the humor that you'd like in the next chapter. Another one of Auggie's brothers show up.

Please read and review. The muse feeds on reviews and needs to be fed. Muse is very hungry.


	11. Moving On

Thanks for the wonderful reviews of the last chapter. The muse was fed.

Disclaimer: I don't own Auggie. Wish I did.

* * *

Chapter Eleven – Moving on

Late June, 2008

Auggie sat in the computer lab having fun surfing the web with his new computer skills. He groaned slightly when he heard the door open and a gentle floral fragrance met his nose. By now the entire staff knew that if he wasn't where he was supposed to be at any given time, to come and look for him here. But it was late Wednesday afternoon and he'd thought that all of his lessons were over with for the day. _Christ, couldn't he have a moment's peace to practice his skills?_

"Auggie, sorry to interrupt, but there's someone in the lobby who wants to see you," the soft voice of the center's receptionist said. "Says he's your brother, Austin."

"Tall, broad shouldered, and very blonde?"

"That would be a good description. And he's as handsome as you are, too," she quickly added. He could actually hear her smile. Austin elicited that response from the ladies.

"Could you show him to my room?" Auggie asked. "We might be having words that wouldn't be appropriate in the lobby," Auggie added by way of explanation. "I'll be along as soon as I shut the computer down properly." He turned back to the keyboard and began keying in commands.

Five minutes later he entered his room. "Austin?"

"Over here, bro," Austin said from the desk area of the room.

Auggie heard the catch in his brother's voice. He knew it was hard on his family to see him with the cane and what it symbolized for them – that their son and brother was no longer the person that they had known. He greeted his brother like nothing was out of the ordinary between them.

"What the hell are you doing here without letting me know you were coming? You know I don't like surprises." He was anything but upset with his brother. A broad grin graced his features as he embraced his boyhood ally.

"How ya doin', Augs?" Austin firmly patted his brother on the back as he broke the mutual bear hug.

"Been worse, gettin' better. How 'bout you?"

"All's right in my world," Austin said. "Except for this unexpected trip to DC. The guy that was supposed to come had a family emergency at the last minute. I barely had time to run home and pack before I had to be at O'Hare. Flew into Dulles and since I was so close I thought I'd stop by and se— … visit my baby brother."

"It's okay, Austin. You can say the word 'see'. I just 'see' differently now." He wiggled his fingers in Austin's direction from where he now sat on his bed.

"Okay. See, see, see," Austin teased.

"I lied. You wound me so with your words," Auggie said. He smiled broadly while clutching his chest in mock distress and falling back on the bed.

"Cut it out you clown. Mom said you needed some legal work done?"

Auggie sat back up. "Yeah, nothing major, just something that gives you permission to sell stuff for me. Just need someone I trust to help me get rid of my car and bike. I'm pretty sure that my driver's license is no longer valid. Without that I don't think I should be driving the car or riding the Harley." He smiled, but there was heaviness in his heart.

"And you trust me?"

"Yeah, I do. I may be blind now, but I can still whip your ass. And you know that I will." He rose from the bed and launched himself in his brother's direction. He grabbed his brother around that waist and tossed him off the desk chair. The chair went careening across the room and banged into something. Both men were laughing heartily by the time that Auggie straddled his brother and pinned his arms above his head. Suddenly Austin stopped struggling.

"Uh, Augs, there's a pretty woman standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Ya know, like Mom gets when we're misbehaving."

Auggie rolled off of Austin and stood in one quick motion. He held out a hand to help Austin up. He inhaled deeply. "Ah, Marissa, what brings you here? I thought that you'd have been long gone from here."

"I was on my way out when I heard that you had another family member visiting. Thought that I'd stop by and see if this one needed the quick course on your care and feeding, too. Do I need to referee now, too?"

"Just making a point that I can still take his ass if he thinks about cheating me," Auggie quickly replied with chagrin at getting caught.

"Austin Anderson," Austin said as he crossed the room toward Marissa. "Auggie's slightly older brother."

"Marissa McClew, his Orientation and Mobility instructor."

"Thanks for stopping by, Marissa. I think I can teach my brother how to lead me around if we need to do that."

"Just don't run him into any walls. He's done enough of that all on his own. I'll see you tomorrow Auggie. I'm going home now."

"She's gone?" Auggie asked conspiratorially a few moments later.

"Yeah. Why? You gonna kick my ass some more?"

"Nope. I've made my point," he said with a broad grin. "She'd just chastise me for what I'm going to ask you to do for me."

"And that would be?"

"Would you put the chair back by the desk for me? I have no idea where it went and I don't want to trip over it later."

"Done," Austin said a moment later. "How about we discuss what you need over a few brews at a local tavern?"

Half-an-hour later Auggie and Austin were seated at the bar in Chili's Bar and Grill nursing draft beer and waiting for their dinners. Over dinner – a Santa Fe Chicken Wrap for Auggie and a nice steak for Austin - Auggie had made it very clear why he wanted Austin to sell his vehicles, and that he wanted to get sloppy drunk – so drunk that, for a bit, he could forget about the IED that had claimed his sight.

Getting smashed hadn't worked. It had only made being blind worse. Several hours later Austin led a very intoxicated Auggie back to his room in the rehab center.

The next evening, after his meetings in DC were concluded and he'd made a quick stop at Auggie's apartment, Austin returned to pick Auggie up and take him to his storage unit. On their way out of the building they'd been stopped by the center's director. Auggie had been told not to come in drunk again.

At the storage building, Auggie handed the key over to his brother. Once the overhead door was opened Auggie slowly felt his way along the sidewall to the back of the unit. He quickly located his 2006 Heritage Softail and began to pull the cover off. Austin helped him finish removing the covering. Once the motorcycle was uncovered, Auggie swung his right leg over his iron horse and, pulling it upright under him, sat in the saddle his long legs easily straddling the mechanical beast.

For once he allowed a wave of nostalgia to wash over him. Of all the things he would miss, at the moment he missed being able to ride the most. He remembered the long hours of riding the back roads of Virginia and Maryland. He closed his eyes as memories of his last ride flooded over him. Mental images, clear, colorful and full of motion, danced in his mind's eye. He'd been given a week off just before being deployed to Iraq. It had been exceptionally warm for October and he'd ridden over to Shenandoah National Park and then rode the Blue Ridge Parkway all the way south to Smokey Mountains National Park. He'd spent a few days in the Cherokee, North Carolina area and ridden many back roads in the North Carolina Mountains. He and his bike had been one as he navigated the tight mountain curves at speed. His memory of the sights, and sounds, of that ride were so vivid that he almost felt the weight of his leathers on his body.

He opened his eyes and shook the memories of that week from his head. If he allowed himself to wallow in memories of what had been and would never be again, he'd probably find himself begging Austin to stop at a bar and letting him get drunk again. What he did allow himself were a few tears.

"It's okay, Augs," Austin said compassionately as he slipped an arm around his brother's shoulders. "I can only imagine how hard this is for you. I know how much you loved to ride."

"It's so damn unfair," Auggie moaned softly, "so damn unfair." He balled his hands into fists and pounded them on the fuel tank in front of him. Suddenly he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and located the knob on the fuel tank. He flipped the top open and fumbled a bit as he inserted the key to unlock the ignition. His left hand pulled in the clutch lever, his right the front brake after a quick twist of the throttle. His right thumb went for the toggle switches located on the handlebar and he pressed 'start'. To his surprise the engine roared to life.

"Auggie, what the hell are you doing?" he heard his brother yell in surprise over the throaty rumble of the big V-Twin.

Auggie revved the motor a few times and then shut it off with the toggle switch on the handlebar. He then turned the knob on the fuel tank and tossed the keys in Austin's direction.

"Just making sure it would still start," Auggie replied innocently. He'd just wanted to hear the sound of his black Harley, and to feel the engine's vibration under him one last time. He knew that Austin would understand, but he didn't want to voice that need. There was finality to it. With the back of his hands, he brushed the remaining tears from his cheek and then swung his right leg back over the bike.

Once off his motorcycle, Auggie took a few steps to the front of his 2002 Camaro. He leaned against the hood. When he heard the rustle of the motorcycle cover, he asked, "You're not covering her back up are you?"

"No. The pipes and engine are too warm. I'll come back tomorrow and cover it back up. You know, you didn't fool me when you fired her up."

"I didn't? Then why did you yell at me?"

"Took me a minute to understand. I think I might have done the same thing if I was in your place. Alan's not the only one who understands you, Augs. I was afraid for you when I heard what had happened. I'm so glad that my fear was unfounded. You're handling this much better than I'd anticipated. You're moving around with confidence."

"Only in places that I know." Auggie admitted reluctantly.

"Did you know the bar we were at last night?"

"Yes, I've been there a few times before. Not since being blinded, but before I left for Iraq. I had a memory of the place to guide me."

"But still, if I didn't know you were blind I might not have guessed that right off. Now, let's see if the car will start, too."

With a slight sigh, Auggie stood up and followed the edge of the car to the driver's door. On his way he activated the fob and unlocked the doors. He felt the side of the door until he located the handle and then popped open the door. Once he'd settled in behind the steering wheel, he, with a bit of fumbling, stuck the key in the ignition, placed his foot on the brake, and then turned the key. Just like his Harley had, the Camaro roared to life. His hand naturally fell onto the gear shift.

"Oh, no you don't," Austin exclaimed as he leaned in the open door and turned off the engine. "If anyone's backing this vehicle out of this storage unit, it's going to be me. Do you hear me?"

"Oh, c'mon, Austin," Auggie pouted putting his hand back on the key and twisting it. "It's just a few feet." The engine idled quietly under the hood.

"Shut the door, Augs. And roll down the window so you can hear me when I yell for you to stop. And for god's sake don't hit the rental. I don't want to have to explain why a blind man was driving a car."

Auggie smiled broadly as he reached out to close the door. When the window was down, he pulled the gear shift back a click, and gently pushed on the gas pedal. He was elated as the vehicle slowly moved backward. A few seconds later he heard his brother's voice calmly tell him to stop. He'd done it. It was the last time that he figured he be behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.

The driver's side door opened, and Austin said, "Okay, Augs, time to get out."

"Austin, Let me …"

"No, Augs, no. I know what you want. I'm not going to let you drive any farther, not even with me guiding you. And I'm definitely NOT going to ride you bitch around the streets of DC on your Harley. So don't even suggest that." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"Not even around the lot here?" Auggie pleaded.

"No, Augs. Not today. Let it go. It's hard, but let it go. And I'm not going to let you get drunk again tonight either. It's not going to help. You're blind, Augs. There are some things you just can't do anymore. Lot's that you can, but these are not them."

Auggie took a deep breath and shut off the car's ignition. "When did you learn to be so brutally honest?"

"A few years ago in law school. Had to learn how to tell people things that they didn't really want to hear."

"You're damn good at it," Auggie said with a crooked grin. He hated to admit it, but his brother was right – he was blind. There were things he could no longer do, but lots of things that he still could. He just had to discover how to do the things he still could.

* * *

Please feed the muse again. It's still hungry.


	12. A Brief Homecoming

This chapter needed to be added but I am not all that pleased with it. It's part of the rehabillitation process, but was hard for me to write.

Disclaimer: I do not own Auggie. Wish that I did, but alas I do not. I just own my ideas of how he got on with his life after he was injured. I do own a sixty-five pound Boxer who wants to be a lapdog.

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Chapter Twelve – A Brief Homecoming

As Marissa placed his hand on the door to his loft, Auggie felt profoundly sad. There were a lot of memories on the other side of that door. His hands were trembling slightly as he inserted the key in the lock. As he slid the heavy door open and took a step inside, his hand automatically reached for the light switch to the right side of the doorway. Even though it did him no good, he flipped the switch for Marissa who'd just entered behind him.

"How ya doin', Auggie?" Marissa lightly touched his arm.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I'll be okay once I get my bearings. I've been gone from here for what—eight, ten months. And I sublet the loft for a six month term before I left. I bet nothing's where I remember leaving it," Auggie lamented as he turned right to find his couch, hands sweeping low for the furniture. "Damn," he hissed as his right shin hit a low table. He felt the contours of the offending piece of furniture, then moved a few inches to the left and continued his search for the sofa. He finally located it and sank down onto its soft leather with a frustrated sigh.

"I didn't necessarily mean physically. Sometimes clients get sort of emotional when they come back home."

"Outside of being a bit nervous, I think I'm good," Auggie said. He was nervous. Nervous that his tenant had turned his apartment around and he'd not know where anything was. Once inside, the memories were not that strong; and he hoped that he'd make new ones here again. Except for Natasha the women he'd bedded here had been just flings; nothing to lead to lasting memories. Even the memories of Tash were not as painful as he'd thought.

"Okay then, tell me what you remember about the layout of you apartment."

For the next twenty minutes Auggie described what he remembered about where things had been located in his home. As he described where he thought he'd left things in kitchen cabinets, he heard Marissa open the doors.

"Your memory is remarkable," Marissa said as she sat beside him. "Apparently your tenant left everything, except for the living room furniture, where you had it. Do you want to help me rearrange the furniture to the way you had it? Or do you want to learn this layout?"

"Does it matter? I'm going to be banging into the furniture anyway for a bit," he complained sullenly.

"Yes, it could matter. If you were familiar with the layout before, it will be easier to relearn how to get around in here now; and less likely to bang your shins and toes on your furniture." She stood and said, "Let's move some furniture."

Fifteen minutes later Auggie's living room furniture was back where he recalled it to be the last time he'd lived here. He took Marissa's suggestion to get new end tables and coffee table with solid bases and rounded corners and filed it away in his mind for later action.

For the next half-an-hour, Auggie simply walked through his apartment – refreshing his memory as to where things were. Even though he knew that it would still be a few weeks before he'd be back here permanently, he had a comfortable feeling as he re-familiarized himself with his home. He did know that in a few days he'd be back here with Jane to help him fine tune his surroundings for his safety and comfort. He was almost looking forward to that now.

Once they were on the sidewalk in front of his apartment door, Marissa had Auggie take her arm as they walked the street that ran in front of his building. As they passed a storefront Marissa had Auggie tell her, either from memory or from the information he gleaned from his senses, what each was. The storefront directly to the right of his building's main door was an antique store, next was empty but had once held a gently used clothing store. The local café had been easy to tell. It had taken them a little over fifteen minutes to circle the block and return to the van.

Tomorrow they'd be back and locate the laundry, a grocery, his bank, and the pharmacy. After Jane had taken him to the laundry and grocery in Reston, he'd made up his mind to use a laundry service for his clothes and linens, and to find a grocery that delivered. He hadn't minded doing his wash in the machines at the center, but it was quite another to now do it in a public laundry. Doing his wash in his own apartment would be fine, but trudging off with it in tow to the public laundry was now quite another matter. There was no room in his apartment for even a stackable washer and dryer and he wasn't about to move. He liked his bachelor pad just the way it was.

Jane had also taken him to the local grocery store to get the ingredients for the meal he was to prepare in his cooking lesson. The sounds and smells of the chain grocery had quite overwhelmed him. Trying to locate an item on the shelf by feel and smell had been frustrating and embarrassing. He'd never liked grocery shopping, and, unless he absolutely had to, he was not going to do that again. He made that perfectly clear to both Jane and Marissa; they'd done the 'tsk tsk' thing and he could just picture them shaking their heads and rolling their eyes at him.

Now back in the van and on their way to CIA headquarters, a new case of nerves was visiting Auggie. Even after a long few days of soul searching and discussions with the social worker and the psychiatrist, he still wasn't completely sure that he'd made the right decision to come back to the CIA to work. Would the people accept him now? Could they – would they – still have confidence in his abilities? He was willing to give the new position a chance. At least he could use his computer skills for the greater good.

After going through the security gate, Marissa parked the van in one of the 'Visitors' parking slots. When Auggie did not immediately reach for the door handle to open the vehicle's door, Marissa patted his arm and asked, "Are you ready for this? I know that it's got to be scary on so many levels for you. I know that we have an appointment with Ms Campbell in a few minutes, but I can call her and postpone it. We don't_ have_ to do this today."

"And just how would you know what I'm feeling here?" he asked gruffly. His mind _was_ reeling with a whole host of emotions from a bit of giddiness to abject fear.

"Don't exactly. Just know how I'd feel about going back to a place where I was well-known and now coming back as a different person. I'd be nervous about how they'd treat me now. Would they patronize me? Ignore me? Accept me? Those kinds of fears," Marissa said with empathy.

"You would?"

"Oh, hells yeah."

"Then, I guess I'm as ready for this as I'll ever be," he said without admitting to his internal dialog. He located the door handle and opened the door.

A few moments later, Auggie was making his way up the walkway to the entry to CIA Headquarters – to the right past the raised logo, up the three steps to the plaza, across it and up three more steps to the main entry door. Once inside he veered slightly to the left toward the security guard's station. Passes received and turnstile negotiated, Auggie headed off toward where he remembered the elevators to be. On the ride over from his apartment, he'd told Marissa that he thought that he could navigate from the car park area up and to Joan's office. He'd walked it so many times in the past that he thought that he could do it with his eyes closed. She'd said that she'd let him try but would be two paces behind to offer direction if he needed it. So far, he'd been pretty close to where he needed to end up when he'd stopped. The little bit of successes had calmed the case of nerves that had steadily grown since he'd left his apartment earlier.

He rounded the last turn in the path to the public entry into Joan's offices. Cane sweeping before him he made the last few steps to the recessed doorway. He knew he was close when his cane found the flag stand. He veered off his course of shorelining the wall, and located the recessed door by the change in echo to his right.

"This should be Joan's office," he said with a hint of questioning in his tone.

"The plaque on the wall reads 'Domestic Protection Division'. If that's where we need to be it is," Marissa stated. "You don't know how pleased I am with your skills this afternoon."

"After banging my shins in my own place this morning I was wondering if I had any skills," he joked uneasily. He pressed the button on the new watch that Jane had helped him order a few weeks back. Its mechanical voice told the time. '1:25 PM' it stated. "Shall we?" he asked as he gestured toward the door.

A few seconds later they were seated in Joan's outer office. Auggie had been warmly, if awkwardly, greeted by Joan's assistant, and told that Joan hadn't come back from an unexpected briefing yet.

Ten minutes later, Joan rushed into her office. "Sorry, Auggie, you know how things can get around here at times. Ms McClew, I apologize for keeping you waiting."

"It's okay, Joan," Auggie responded. "Saving the world has to take priority." As curious as he was about what had kept Joan from being on time for him, he knew better than to ask. He knew what his security level had been, but he did wonder at what level he'd be trusted with once he returned in a few weeks.

"I don't have the time that I'd like to help you orient Auggie to his new surroundings. But I can take you to Auggie's new office and let the two of you figure out what the critical areas are that he'll need to know first." Joan sounded rushed. "Marissa, I'm sure that we will not get high marks for Auggie's new work area. It is far from ideal for him, but sometime soon we will be moving to a new area where it will be just perfect for him."

"I'm sure I'll adapt, Joan. I'm just happy to be back."

"I know," Joan said as she patted Auggie on the shoulder. "We're pleased to have you back. Shall we get the tour started?"

Moments later the trio was on the catwalk overlooking the bullpen area of the DPD. Then they descended the stairs and crossed between the rows of desk to the glass doors opposite Joan's office but one level below.

As the doors opened and Marissa stepped inside, she exclaimed, "I can see what you mean, Ms Campbell. Step carefully Auggie, there's cables running across the floor in here."

Auggie slid his foot forward searching for the first cable. He remembered the small office with its racks of computers and other kinds of electronic monitoring devices. He was hoping that he'd be somewhere else, but wasn't surprised to find that he'd be located here.

"The guys took some time to reorganize things a bit, but this is the best we could do with what we had to work with," Joan said apologetically.

"It's okay, Joan. I'll get used to it," Auggie replied. "Where's my area?"

Marissa placed his hand on the back of a chair. "This table has the refreshable Braille display under the keyboard so I'm assuming that this is it."

Auggie sat and began to explore the work surface before him: at the back of the table and to his left was a tower computer, to the right of that a large flat screen monitor and to the right of the keyboard a set of high-end headphones.

"It's all set up and ready for you when you're able to come back. Stu just got it all hooked up and the special software installed yesterday."

"It's an interesting set up," Stu piped up from his work area behind Auggie. "It wasn't as complicated to set up as I'd first thought when I looked at it just after it all arrived."

From the doorway someone called for Joan.

"I'll leave the two of you to do what it is you need to do," Joan said as she exited the room.

For the next two hours Marissa and Auggie located and mapped out routes to the break room, restrooms, and the various other areas that Auggie would need to know how to get to and around in. Auggie had walked the routes to and from different primary locations a dozen times before he felt comfortable in his ability to maneuver in the maze of corridors.

When he and Marissa left that day, he had a comfortable feeling. His memory of the building had made the orientation session easier than he had feared. Everyone that he'd known before he'd left had greeted him warmly. Some of the uneasiness he'd felt about coming back had been alleviated.

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Reviews feed the muse, but I don't expect her to be fed with this chapter. Therefore, it's a good thing that the next chapter is nearly ready to post. I may yet post it this week, but by next Monday for sure.


	13. Of Hearth and Home

Rehab is now complete and Auggie, reluctantly, heads back to Glencoe for a family celebration. This is the first chapter of several where Auggie leaves the relative seclusion of the rehabilitation center and is thrust into the real world. Along the way he learns things about his family and himself. I hope that you enjoy meeting his family in a different setting. We've met all but Anthony before, but I'm not sure that you'll find him as charming as the other boys.

Disclaimer: I have no ownership of Auggie, just my view of how he came to be the person he became in Covert Affairs.

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Chapter Thirteen – Of Hearth and Home

Friday, September 5, 2008 – 10:30 AM

"Mr. Anderson?" A strangely accented male voice asked as soon as Auggie had extracted himself from the taxi.

"Yes," Auggie replied with reservation.

"I'm with Traveler's Assistance and will be accompanying you to security and then someone else will assist you on to your departure gate. You have luggage?" Auggie could not place the accent, and frankly didn't care where his savior had come from. He had been dreading this part of the trip back home. He wasn't looking forward to any of it, but how he was to get to the plane had panicked him. His mother had promised assistance, but he'd had no idea of the form that assistance would take.

And so began his solo journey back to Glencoe, Illinois for the family reunion. On one level he was eager to see his parents, brothers, and their assorted wives and children. On another he had his reservations that this was a good idea. He had officially 'graduated' from 'blind school', as he'd come to think of his stay at the rehabilitation center, a week ago. He'd spent the last few days alone in his apartment. He'd taken most of his meals at the café down the block and was looking forward to his mother's cooking. He hoped that a few good meals would be worth the annoyance that traveling created.

He settled back into his first class seat. Even though he had insisted that coach would be just fine, his parents had insisted on flying him back home in first class comfort. He spent most of his two-and-a-half hour flight remembering all that he could of the layout of his parent's house and yard, and the placement of the furniture the last time he was there. He was happy that his mother wasn't one to change furniture arrangements often; the actual furniture may have changed a few times but not the placement. The living and dining rooms had been arranged the same way for as long as he could remember. He felt that he could manage those rooms and the kitchen without too much problem. Only problem he saw was if someone left something out of place in the living or family rooms. He thought that the probability of that was great with everyone there and all of his nieces and nephews, too. And so he resigned himself to looking like a bumbling idiot for part of the long Labor Day weekend. He just hoped that he wouldn't hurt himself or one of the kids.

Finally it was his time to deplane. He'd waited until most of the other passengers had departed, then rose from his seat and slowly found his way to the front of the plane. The only thing that he'd carried on had been his cane and that was firmly clutched in his right hand. As he reached the ramp into the terminal, he shook out his cane and tapped his way to the exit. Someone was supposed to be waiting for him at the end of the ramp. He didn't know if it would be another member of Traveler's Assistance or if TSA had allowed one of his family members to come greet him. As he exited the ramp he heard an unfamiliar voice say his name. When he'd acknowledged her, she stepped forward and took his arm. He'd quickly taken her arm and said, "Works better for me this way. I need to go to baggage claim, please."

Auggie and his guide stepped off the escalator and veered right toward the nearest baggage carousel. "This is the baggage claim carousel for your flight. Do you need assistance finding your bag?"

"No, someone should be meeting me here in a few minutes. I'll be fine now. Thanks for your assistance," he said extending his hand towards the woman who had helped him with, what he hoped was a five dollar bill, discretely nestled in his palm.

As his guide shook his hand, he heard his name being called.

"Austin," he exclaimed with joy turning to the sound of his brother's voice. He spread his arms for the hug he knew was coming. Shortly Austin wrapped his arms about Auggie.

"Good to see you again, Augs. What's your bag look like?"

"Packed what I think is a black wheelie bag, medium sized. It's got what I was told is a bright orange tag on it. If that fails to locate it, it's also got a tag that beeps when I press this button." He pulled a small pad from his jeans pocket with 6 buttons on it.

"Well, now, ain't that neat," Austin said grabbing the device from Auggie's hand. "How's it work?" He placed the pad back into Auggie's hand.

"It works on the same principle as a remote fob for a car. If one of the items with one of the tags on it is within 30 feet of me, it will beep when I press the corresponding button on the pad. Big help in finding stuff that I've forgotten where I set down."

"Ah, the baggage is starting to appear on the carousel. Let's see if I can locate your bag now." He took a step away from where Auggie stood. Auggie reached out for his brother's arm, but met with air.

"Um, Austin, you gonna leave me standing here all alone?"

"Well, you do look kinda cute standing there leaning on your cane next to that pillar. You're kinda out of the way there. I'll be back in a few minutes."

True to his word, Austin returned to Auggie's side in a few minutes towing Auggie's bag behind him. This time he touched Auggie's left hand like Auggie had told him to weeks before. As Auggie grasped his upper arm, Austin proclaimed, "I'm sorry Augs, we've got a bit of a hike to get to my car."

"That's okay. I need the exercise."

An hour later, Austin pulled to a stop and turned off the ignition. "We're here, Augs. Are you ready for this?"

"Yeah. As ready as I can be."

"I'll take your bag up to your room. Mom thought that you'd be most comfortable in our old room at the end of the hall upstairs. Do you want me to guide you up to the door? Or, do you want to do it on your own?"

"Where did you stop in relation to the back door? I assume we're in the drive and not on the street."

"When you get out, if you follow the car toward the trunk and cross behind it you'll be right at the back stairs."

"I think I can handle that. Thanks, Austin."

"For what?" Austin asked clearly surprised.

"Just thanks for being my brother." There were so many things lately that he could thank his brother for: getting good prices for his car and motorcycle, for volunteering to come retrieve him from the airport, but mostly for letting him fend for himself in getting into the house he knew so well. He exited the car and headed toward the porch. He easily found the stair rail and ascended the stairs with confidence. Two quick strides across the porch deck and his hand easily found the door handle. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open and entered the mud room.

Three more strides and he passed by the washer and dryer on his left and the row of hooks and cubbies on his right. If he'd worn a jacket he'd take it off and hang it on the last hook near the pocket door into the kitchen. He let his right arm lightly brush along the kitchen peninsula as he entered fully into the kitchen. To his left was the downstairs half bath. Straight ahead, in a bay windowed alcove was the breakfast area.

"Mom? Dad?" he called out. "Anyone in the kitchen?"

"I'll be there in a minute, August," he heard his mother answer from the front of the house. "I'm here and I'm fixin' to hug you," she said a few moments later as she wrapped her arms around her youngest son. "It's so good to have you home."

"It's good to be home, Mom." He kissed the top of her head as he hugged her back. "Pot roast for supper?"

"Yes. I know that it's your favorite."

"How long before we eat? I'm getting hungry just smelling the goodness coming from the oven."

"In a little bit. Time enough for you to go up and get settled in, and to re-acquaint yourself with the house. If you'd like, there's some fresh fruit in a bowl in the center of the breakfast table."

Auggie slowly crossed the short distance to the breakfast table and selected an apple from the assortment of oranges, apples, and pears. "Thanks, Mom." He took a bite out of the apple and headed off through the dining room and up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs he encountered Austin.

"Augs, I thought that you'd be much more comfortable in the guest room, rather than trying to sleep in our old bunk beds in our old room. First room here on your right. Adam's old room."

"What made you do that? I know our room like the back of my hand."

"I'll move you down there if you really want that." Austin said with chagrin.

"No, Austin, I'll be fine in Adam's old room, too." He smiled broadly in Austin's direction. "Just as long as you didn't leave my suitcase in the middle of the floor for me to trip over."

"Now would I do that?" Austin asked with feigned innocence.

"Yes, you would. And then stand in the doorway and laugh your head off when I fell over it."

"I didn't. Not this time, anyway." He punctuated his words with a poke to Auggie's chest. "Suitcase is on the foot of the bed on the left hand side." With that he headed down the stairs. He called up from the bottom of the steps. "I'll see you tomorrow. Jenna and I will be over for our usual Saturday night dinner."

He entered the room and slowly familiarized himself with the furniture placement. Munching on his apple as he did so, he placed his clothes and toiletries in the empty drawers of the dresser. That task completed, and his suitcase stowed in the corner beside the dresser, he ambled back downstairs and back into the kitchen.

As he entered the heart of his mother's home, he heard her ask, "Would you mind setting the table here in the kitchen, August? Plates are already on the table, but we'll need flatware, and glasses"

Even though he was a bit surprised at the request, he easily set about his task. He'd taken the glasses from their cabinet and set them on the counter. "Do you and Dad, still have milk with your evening meal?"

"Most of the time and definitely tonight. Why?"

"I can pour before taking the glasses to the table," he stated confidently.

"Sure. Milk jug's in the door, about your waist high on the right hand side." There was a hesitance in his mother's tone; as if she was uncertain of his ability to pour himself, or anyone, a beverage.

After washing his hands in the sink, Auggie took the milk container from the refrigerator, and, holding each glass near the top with his left hand and hooking his index finger slightly over the rim of the glass, he carefully poured three glasses of milk. He'd returned the jug to its place and was setting the last glass on the table when he heard his mother sniffle, and then blow her nose.

"Mom?"

"You're amazing , son, just amazing."

"Why do you say that, Mom?"

"The way that you're moving through the house, and setting the table, just subtle things give you away."

"I know this house, Mom. Nothing's changed much since I was a little kid. What did you expect? A bumbling fool?" For some reason he felt defensive; patronized by his own mother.

"I … I didn't know what to expect. Your father and I, and some of your brother's families, have gone to meet with the social worker down at the Hines VA a few times to learn about your handicap and what to expect. You're acting nowhere near how I expected. It's like you can still see."

"I've worked hard to achieve that illusion, Mom. On the flight out I went over every inch of the house and yard in my mind: How many paces from one area to another; where you've kept the dishes for years so that I could amaze you by setting the table. I'd planned to do that, Mom. I'd planned out every move and prayed that you hadn't moved anything since the last time I was here. Mom, it's not easy looking 'normal' now." He air quoted on normal. "I think that I have something to prove to you; to dad," he paused for a moment then added, "And to myself. I've gone from feeling that I'd be a burden on my family in the early days of my blindness to needing to prove to everyone that I am capable of living independently, safely."

"Why do you feel that you have something to prove, son?" his father asked from the doorway from the family room.

"Hi, dad. Didn't hear you come in."

"I've been out back in the workshop. Just came in because it was supper time." He went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. "Sit down, son. Let's finish this discussion over supper."

Auggie located the chair between his parent's seats and sat down. He removed his napkin from the napkin ring he'd placed on the plates a little bit ago and draped it over his lap. As soon as he'd completed that, he heard the plate being picked up; then a few moments later being replaced.

"Your meat is at 6, onion at 12, carrots at 3, and potato at 9," his mother said. "I've cut everything into bite sized pieces for you."

Auggie cringed a little at her statement. He thought that he'd gotten used to the cues, but it was different coming from his mother, rather than one of the aides at the rehab center, or even from the waitress at the diner.

"Thanks, Mom." Suddenly he felt like a three-year-old. He could have cut his own food, it might have been a bit awkward, but he could have done it. And if his mother had asked if he'd like her to cut his meal for him he probably would have said 'yes, please', but to automatically do it for him, that angered him. And confused him. Not half-an-hour ago she'd had him finish setting the table like he was still a capable person, now she was treating him like he was helpless. He took a deep breath, swallowed his anger, and began to eat.

"Now, what was it you were saying about having to prove something to someone?" his father asked.

"Nothing, Dad. I've got nothing to prove to anyone." He took a bite of carrot, chewed and swallowed, then asked, "What is it that you've been working on all afternoon?"

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Please take the time to review. There were precious few for the last chapter and the muse is wondering if anyone is still with me. 'The Morning After' got more response so I might just leave Auggie here rather than finish this up. It's all done and ready to post. There are only four more chapters culminating with his return to the DPD.


	14. Of Hearth and Home  Part Two

I wasn't going to post until this coming Sunday, but decided that I really want to get this story finished so that I can move on to something else. I'll be posting another chapter every morning until it's done.

To girlwithoutfear - I've fixed the wording that you pointed out via DM in the previous chapter. To resourceress7 I've also fixed the words that you pointed out. I can't believe that I did one of them; must have been a formatting error on the second. But thanks to both for caring enough to call me on them. I do appreciate that.

Disclaimer: I don't own Auggie. As much as I'd like to, I don't even own Christopher Gorham who plays Auggie so well. Auggie belongs to the writers of Covert Affairs, and Anel Lopez Gorham owns Christopher. Lucky woman.

I don't exactly own Summer Dawn, or Autumn Grace, but they are close to my heart. I do own the rest of the characters that live in my head.

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Chapter Fourteen – Of Hearth and Home – Part Two

Saturday, September 6, 2008 – 6:15 AM

Auggie sat on the swing suspended from the rose arbor in his parent's back yard. He sipped on his cup of coffee. He'd made the pot before he'd come out into the yard. He'd pulled on his jean shorts, but was still wearing his pajama top. His feet were bare. It was early on his first full day back home. Even the birds were just waking up. He could hear them twittering and chirping sleepily about the neighborhood. Somewhere, off in the distance, a train whistle sounded forlornly. He heard the sliding glass door from the family room onto the deck open and close. He wondered which one of his parents was up this early. Slippered feet shuffled their way down the short flight of stairs from deck to patio and then shuffled along the path and stopped before the lawn chair directly across from him. They settled into the cushioned chair.

"Rough night?" his father asked with concern.

"Not really. Just used to getting up this early. I'd forgotten how peaceful it was out here at dawn." Lying was coming naturally to him once again. He wasn't sure if he wanted to admit to anyone just how trying the morning had been for him already.

"How's it going, son?"

"Fine, Dad. Just fine."

"No, son, really. How are you doing? Your Mom's not around you can be honest with me."

After the aborted conversation over dinner, Auggie paused for a long moment by taking another sip of his coffee as he considered how to answer that question. Finally he spoke. "Some days are still very hard. I was anxious a lot yesterday in the airport terminals – so many disorienting sounds. I didn't know where I was much of the time and I didn't know if I could really trust the person guiding me, but I didn't have much of an option there." He paused and took another sip of coffee. "Mornings can be hard when I first wake up, too. I'm still occasionally bewildered when I open my eyes and there's nothing there. Sometimes the tears still flow when I realize that it's real and I'll always wake up that way. Day or night, it's all the same to me." He set the swing in motion again. The gentle movement calmed him – always had. There was something about the gentle back and forth movement that had brought him comfort when things in his young world had been tough. The swing had always been one of his favorite places; especially in spring when the roses were in bloom.

"How about nightmares about the incident?" his father asked quietly.

"I've had them. Don't like them. They rattle me."

"Have you talked to someone about them?"

"Yeah. The psychiatrist at the center. They're normal and mine aren't as bad or as frequent as some. Those first few weeks were bad, almost every night, but not so much now. Now it seems to depend on how bad the day was." He took another sip of coffee and pondered his next words carefully. "Truth is I had one this morning. That's the real reason I'm up so early." The memory of that fateful day four-and-a-half months ago was still so fresh in his mind. He hated that one of the few things he was able to see vividly in his dreams was the one that had left his waking moments void of images.

"They'll get farther apart as time goes on, and less intense, but they'll probably never go away completely. I still occasionally have them about stuff I experienced in Vietnam."

For the next half-an-hour, until they were called for breakfast, father and son talked. Well, Alfred Anderson mostly talked about his latest wood-working projects while Auggie listened. Now Auggie almost wished that he hadn't opted out of the shop class at the rehabilitation center. It might now be helpful to be able to join his father in his passion. But, he reasoned, he was now a fairly proficient Braille reader. The computer codes were still hard for him to make sense of at times, but he was gaining on them.

After a light breakfast of a mushroom omelet, wheat toast and fresh cantaloupe slices, Auggie ambled back upstairs to shower and to get dressed. As always, he shaved carefully using the technique that he and Alan had come up with back in Germany. It was essentially the same one that Jane had shown him back at the rehab center – lather up good, then shave one side of his face at a time with overlapping strokes of the razor, then his neck. Then to check with a fingertip for lather still left and shaving it away.

He arrived back downstairs just in time to go with his parents back to O'Hare to pick up Alan. His tour in Iraq was finally over and he was on a 30-day leave. Auggie dozed in the backseat of his mother's Volvo for most of the forty-five minute trek to the airport. His late night and early morning had caught up with him. He only awoke when the vehicle stopped.

"Where are we?" he asked groggily as the vehicle jerked to a stop.

"We've stopped to pick up Alan. He's almost to us now," his mother said from the front passenger seat. "Pop the trunk, Fred."

Behind him Auggie heard the trunk latch come undone and then two thuds as something was deposited inside. Another chunk as the trunk lid was slammed shut followed soon after.

Moments later the door behind his mother popped open and Alan settled into the car and slammed the door. "Hi, Mom, Dad! How's it hangin' Auggie?"

Everyone said their greetings as the Volvo slowly started to move.

Alan leaned over and stage whispered to Auggie, "I see you've gotten rid of your military cut. But don't you think you should run a comb through it every once in a while? You've got some serious bed-head going on there. Oh, and you missed a spot shaving this morning."

Despite knowing that he'd done a thorough job of dragging the razor over his face and neck, Auggie's right hand flew to his face and began to search his cheek and jaw for the patch of beard his razor might have missed that morning. Beside him Alan roared with laughter. Auggie flung his arm in Alan's direction and was rewarded as he soundly connected with Alan's chest. "That was mean." He snarled and then broke into laughter, too.

"Boys! Care to share the joke with the rest of us?" their mother reprimanded.

"Private joke, Mom," Auggie said. Alan had gotten him good. He'd have to come up with a way to get him back. Back in Germany, that had been a running joke with them. It had been the only thing that he'd been able to laugh about then.

His laughter quieted and Alan said, "It's good to see you again, Auggie. You look so much more together than the last time I laid eyes on you." He softly struck Auggie on the arm with a loose fist.

"I am much more together than then." Auggie turned his head slightly towards his brother, "I really wish that I could lay eyes on you, but …"

"Hush about that. I'm just glad that I was able to be with you those first few horrible days. You seem to be so much more at peace now, too."

"I am, Alan. I am." Alan squeezed his hand firmly, and then let it go as quickly as he'd take it up. "I wish that I could show you all the cool computer stuff that I've learned how to use …"

##########

Saturday, September 6, 2008 – 6:15 PM

"Jenna, so good to see you again," Auggie gushed as he embraced his newest sister-in-law. "Whoa! Austin, my man, why didn't you tell me that you and your lovely bride were expecting again? When are you due, Jenna?" Auggie asked as he placed a hand on Jenna's very large baby belly.

"I'm supposedly due in two weeks," Jenna replied proudly. "It can't happen soon enough for me. This pregnancy has been so much different from Summer's."

"We were so busy when I was out, that it just never came up. Sorry, honey," Austin whispered apologetically to his bride of almost five years.

"Boy? Another girl?" Auggie queried of his sister-in-law.

"Another girl we think. Autumn Grace if it is," Jenna quickly replied.

"And where is Summer Dawn?" Auggie asked.

"I'm right here," a small voice in front of him said indignantly. "Can't you see me?"

Auggie squatted down, "No, Miss Summer, I can't. My eyes are broken."

"What did we talk about in the car over here to Nana's?" Austin said to his three-year-old daughter.

"I don't 'member," the little girl said shyly.

Austin knelt down to his daughter's level. "Remember we told you that we were going to meet a man who couldn't see and we needed to be careful not to get in his way when he was walking 'cause he might step on us?"

"Yes, daddy. I 'member now. Do you need a Band-Aid for your eyes? Daddy said your eyes got an owie."

Auggie stifled a laugh at the little girl's seriousness. "No, Summer, I don't need a Band-Aid for my eyes. The owie happened a while ago and they don't hurt anymore. They just don't work now."

"Come on here with Nana. Let's go into the kitchen," Abigail said to Summer.

"Wow, she's got quite the way with words for a three-year-old!" Auggie exclaimed as his mother and niece moved off into the other part of the house. "Last time I saw her she was just a toddler; seems she's quite the young lady now."

"We were worried that she'd never learn to talk and now we have a hard time getting her to stop," Austin related.

"Takes after her mom in that respect," Auggie teased nudging Jenna in the arm with his own.

"Oh," Jenna groaned. "Baby just kicked me in the rib. I'm heading off to make sure Summer doesn't annoy her Nana too much." She headed off down the hallway to the back of the house, too. Austin and Auggie trailed along behind her into the kitchen.

6:45 PM

"Spaghetti, Mom? You really are challenging me this weekend, huh?" Auggie teased his mother as she drained the pasta. He'd known that pasta was going to be served for dinner when he smelled his mother's sauce simmering on the stove most of the afternoon. Spaghetti had never been high on his list of favorite foods, but he'd learned to manage it without problem when it had been served during his days in rehab.

"I'm sorry, August. I didn't think when Summer said that she wanted it for dinner," Abigail said with alarm.

"It's okay, Mom. I can deal with spaghetti. Anyway I think that I can." A broad grin lit up his face. "You still got those lobster bibs hanging around? I probably could use one of them."

Behind him he heard someone rummaging in one of the kitchen drawers. "Here," Alan said placing something around Auggie's neck.

Auggie's hands investigated the object around his neck and falling to his waist – the aforementioned lobster bib. "Thanks, Alan. Now with a towel for my lap, I won't need to change my clothes after dinner. Wouldn't want Summer to show me up."

From the doorway he heard laughter – female laughter. Moments later, when her laughter had died down, Jenna asked, "Auggie, what on earth are you doing?"

"Getting ready for dinner. Don't want your daughter to show up the blind man by having cleaner clothes after spaghetti."

"August! Would you stop with the jokes already?" His mother was not laughing at the antics of her sons.

* * *

So, what do you think? Do I post the last three chapters?


	15. Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Disclaimer: Don't own Auggie.

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Chapter Fifteen – Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Sunday, September 7, 2008 11:30 AM

"Augs, get it in gear. We'll miss the first pitch at this rate." Austin shouted through the closed guest room door.

Auggie finished buttoning the White Sox jersey that Austin had brought him that morning. It might be a family tradition for the guys to go to a baseball game if either the Cubs or the Sox were playing a home game the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, but he wasn't exactly sure that it was a good idea for Austin to insist on his coming along. He grabbed his cane off of the small table to the left of the door and exited the room.

"'Bout damn time," Austin chided as Auggie opened the door.

"Austin, I'm really not so sure about …"

"Shut up, Augs. You're coming with us and that's final. There's five of us to watch over you. They have special radios for their visually impaired fans, too," Austin patiently explained.

Austin and Auggie trundled down the stairs and out to the drive where everyone else was al-ready waiting in Adam's Mercedes SUV. Austin led Auggie to the front passenger seat and then settled himself into the seat right behind him. Auggie firmly clasped his cane in his left hand as he reached out to close the car door with his right. He definitely didn't want to be without his cane today.

A bit over an hour later Auggie was gripping Austin's arm, cane held diagonally in front of him, working his way through the throng of White Sox's fans. Alan followed slightly behind with the special radio that they'd picked up at the Guest Relations Booth on the main concourse.

"Stairs going down," Austin soon proclaimed.

After what seemed to be an unending flight of stairs, Austin finally said, "We're here, Augs," as he stepped into the row to the left. "We've got these three seats right here on the end and the three right behind them." He placed Auggie's left hand on the back of one of the seats.

"What's in front of us?" Auggie asked after he'd settled himself into the center seat and reached forward. His cursory investigation had turned up no seatbacks before him.

"Top of the dugout; we've got first row seats," Austin said proudly. "Only the best for you, Augs."

"Even though I can't exactly appreciate what's happening on the field?"

"Especially because of that. Down here you can be a part of the excitement of the game, even if you can't see what's going on out on the field."

"That's what this is for," Alan said as he placed the special radio against Auggie's chest. Auggie examined the device – it was about the size of the Walkmans he'd taken apart as a kid. He clipped it onto his belt and placed the earpiece into his ear. "How does this thing work?" he asked Austin.

"According to the lady that I talked with when I was getting the tickets, it broadcasts the same play-by-play that the radio listeners get, but without the time lag. It's real time so you can know what we're groaning or cheering about when we do and not 5 seconds later."

"Cool!" Auggie exclaimed.

An hour or so later, after several beers, a hot dog and a bag of popcorn, Auggie leaned toward Austin and whispered, "Austin, I got to pee. Could you ...?"

Austin rose from his aisle seat and touched Auggie's shoulder. Auggie rose and took Austin's arm. "Did you count the steps when you went down?" Austin asked as they trudged back up to the main concourse.

"Nope. Did you?" Auggie retorted playfully.

"Last step," Austin said shortly. "Looks like there's a line for the restroom."

"I'm okay with that."

Austin whispered into Auggie's ear, "When we do get inside, do you want a stall, or is the urinal okay?"

Auggie quickly whispered back, "I'm a big boy, I can use the urinal. But thanks for asking." A few moments later he exclaimed "Konerko just homered to center field! Damn wish I could have seen that one. Sorry for making you miss it Austin." Around him a series of disappointed groans sounded; no one liked to miss the good plays. Auggie was almost thankful for the 'assistive listening' device he was using.

Austin nudged Auggie's arm with his. "That's what I get for havin' to babysit my baby brother."

"Okay, blame me, will ya," Auggie said with a broad grin. "I'll just blame the damn terrorists."

For a moment all around him went silent. Auggie felt eyes on him; he felt confused and embarrassed. He whispered at Austin, "Why has it gone so quiet? Have I suddenly grown a second head or a third eye?"

"I don't know, Augs. Maybe something to do with the terrorist comment."

Before the brothers could exchange further comments, a hand grasped Auggie's and shook it firmly. "Thank you, son."

"Why? What did I do?" Auggie was utterly confused about what this elderly man could be thanking him for.

"Thanks for serving your country and leaving a part of yourself over there. What branch?"

"Army, Special Forces," Auggie replied proudly. It wasn't exactly the truth, but close enough for the situation.

"I'm glad that you came home alive. My son didn't. Lost him a few months ago. He was Special Forces, too. An IED took him."

_No. It couldn't be. Could it?_ "Mr. Long?" Auggie asked tentatively.

"No. I'm Mr. Wright. Jim Wright. Why do you ask?"

"Thought for a moment you might be someone else. Sorry about your son."

The line shifted and Mr. Wright entered the men's room.

"What was that all about?" Austin whispered.

"Specialist Long, the guy that was killed when I lost my sight, was from the Midwest. Thought that gentleman might have been his dad. It would have been a freaky coincidence though."

"Real freaky," Austin agreed.

When the youngest Anderson boys returned to their seats, Anthony began to relate the action on field since they'd left to Austin. "… should have seen that homer by Konerko. Too bad the bases weren't loaded. Then Ramirez and Swisher both sent fly balls to right field. …"

"No need for the play-by-play, Tony. Augs kept me abreast of the play while we were takin' care of business. He kept the rest of the men's room entertained, too."

"Well, I knew there was some reason you insisted on bringing him along." Anthony's words dripped with disapproval. "What? Don't look at me like that. You know that I didn't think it was a wonderful idea to bring August with us."

"He should be safe back at the house," Adam added.

"Adam, Anthony, that's quite enough." Alfred reprimanded his two oldest sons.

Auggie heard mumbled apologies, but the words were lost on him; he'd retreated into his own thoughts. He wasn't surprised at Anthony's words. He'd always had a strained relationship with him, but Adam's words stung. Better off back at home? Well, if that's what they thought he'd just oblige them. And show them a thing or two, also.

He unfurled his cane and stood. He pushed past Austin, shaking his restraining hand off as he passed.

"Where are you going?" Adam asked as he passed him.

"Home. Where I'm safe," Auggie retorted vehemently

"How …?"

"Watch me!" Cane held straight down and lightly touching each stair riser in turn, Auggie climbed the stairs. Behind him he heard footfalls matching him own. Someone was following him, but which of his brothers he was not certain. Or if it was even one of his brothers or father.

At the top of the stairs he set the cane in motion and angled slightly to the right where he thought the Customer Relation's Booth was. He silently cursed himself for not paying closer attention to his surroundings while Austin led him to their seats.

His initial burst of indignation waning, Auggie slowed his pace and listened to the sounds around him intently. He needed direction. Another step and his cane struck something. He stepped up to it and found only a wall. "Damn," he mumbled under his breath.

A hand touched his arm. "Come back to our seats, Auggie," Adam said.

"No!" Auggie said shrugging Adam's hand from his forearm. He turned to his left and began walking away while following the wall.

"Auggie, don't do this. I'm sorry for what I said, but you're not making any points with me right now. Do you even know where you are?"

"I'm in U.S. Cellular Stadium and I'm heading towards a gate where I'll catch a cab back to Glencoe," Auggie responded with feigned confidence.

"You're not heading towards a gate, Auggie. You're heading towards the escalator to the upper level." Adam's tone was even, matter-of-fact.

"I would have figured that out eventually," Auggie said defensively.

"I'm sure you would have. Do you want me to leave you here to bumble your way around? Or, will you come with me back to our seats? I'm sure that dad and the guys are starting to get worried."

"How long have you been following me?"Auggie wavered between anger and despair. He hoped that Adam had just come upon him and had not seen his countenance fall from indignation and confidence into confusion and near panic.

"From the moment you left your seat; long enough to see that you were out of your element and totally disoriented." Adam touched the back of Auggie's hand.

"No, Adam. I've got my bearings now." Auggie squared his shoulders and stepped out past his brother. Adam grabbed his arm again, but Auggie shook it off. "Adam, don't."

A dozen or so paces and his cane once again located an obstacle.

A nice female voice asked, "May I assist you, sir?"

Taking a few steps to what his cane had discovered, Auggie said, "I need a cab. Can you secure me one and point me in its direction?"

"No problem, sir," the female Customer Relation's agent said.

He felt another touch on his arm. "Auggie, will you please come back with me to our seats," Adam pleaded. "I will not let them know about your disorientation a few minutes ago."

Auggie, now knowing that he had an option, turned to face Adam. "Look, I know Austin was the only one that wanted me to come to the game today. Even Alan had his reservations. I heard the loud discussion that you all had earlier this morning. I had_ my_ reservations. I came at Austin's insistence. I'm glad that I did. I _was_ having fun until a few minutes ago." He waited for Adam to say something. He did not wait long, and was surprised by his words.

"You know Tony. He never did want another baby brother. Just the two of us and maybe a sister would have been just fine with him. Yes, I had my reservations on bringing you along. There for a few minutes I thought I'd been right, but you have just now proved me to be in error."

"Do you still need the cab, sir?"

"I … I don't know," he replied to the woman behind the counter. He didn't know what he wanted at the moment. He did know that without Adam's inadvertent help, he might still be wandering around lost. Even his second go at finding the Customer Relations Booth had gotten results only from dumb luck. If his cane strike hadn't elicited a comment from someone inside the booth he had been close to having a panic attack.

"Come on Auggie. Let's head back to our seats?"

"Oh, okay," Auggie said reluctantly as he reached for Adam's arm. He had made a point with his actions. Whether it was a good point or a bad one, and to whom he'd made the point he wasn't sure, but he thought he was now ready to return to the baseball game.

When they got back to their seats, their father asked, "Where did you catch up with him?"

Auggie held his breath as he wondered what Adam would say.

"At the customer service booth; he was going to have them get him a cab home. "

"Good one, Augs," Austin said patting Auggie's back. "You showed them that you're not the helpless man they took you for."

A smug little smile worked its way across Auggie's face as he mentally patted himself on the back. He had shown them, and himself, that he was capable of fending for himself a bit. Maybe he hadn't gotten there on skill alone, but dumb luck worked for him, too.

* * *

The muse would still like to know what you thought of this chapter. I'm especially interested in knowing what you think of Anthony aka Tony.


	16. An Unlikely Ally

Here's the next to last chapter in this story. A Labor Day cookout in the parent's backyard. Auggie learns something unexpected about one of his sisters-in-law. He liked her before, but he is really happy to have her in the family now.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Just playing. I do have to give credit to my good friend Mumfer for Olivia. Without Mumfer, there might not have been an Olivia.

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Chapter Sixteen – An Unlikely Ally

Monday, September 8, 2008 – 5:30 AM

Auggie groggily groped around on the nightstand for his watch. When he finally located it, he pushed the button that opened the crystal. Sensitive fingertips read the time. 5:35 or there about. Somewhere outside a dog barked in the early morning quiet. He groaned quietly into the pillow and rolled onto his back. The dream he'd just had had left him with a feeling of helplessness. He hadn't felt that way so strongly in a while. It was not a feeling that he liked, even when he had been relatively helpless in his new and frightening world. He thought that he had outgrown that feeling. But, maybe, he hadn't.

He lay on his back; eyes wide open, staring up toward the ceiling. Even though he did not wish to do so, his mind went back over the essence of the bad dream. He was in a dark place. A soundless place. He was disoriented and then silently objects – hands it had seemed – were pummeling him. Then taunting laughter as he tried, and failed, to find a way out. Was this a premonition? Or was it just his mind's sick way of defusing the disorientation and panic he had felt the day before.

Monday, September 8, 2008 – 12:45 PM

"Auggie, it's Olivia. May I sit with you?"

"I guess," he said with a shoulder shrug. "Where's Adam?" Auggie shifted to his right slightly to give Olivia plenty of room on the swing. Once she had settled onto the seat beside him, she set the swing in gentle motion.

"He's over with your dad by the grill. Alexis and Cody are watching their sister and younger cousins play tag." She lightly touched Auggie's left arm. "How's it going? I know that you graduated from rehab with flying colors, but how are you really managing in this new world you've been thrust into?"

"I'm doing fine, Livie. Just fine."

"Don't be giving me that line, buster. Adam told me about what happened at the ballgame. I gave him hell over his part in it. I'd give Tony a piece of my mind, too, if I thought that it would do any good. He may be Adam's and your brother, but he's still a jerk in my book."

"Yeah, Tony can be an ass sometimes. His words didn't bother me as much as Adam's comment that I needed to be here, were I'd be 'safe'. Meaning someone other than my brothers and father to watch over me like I was helpless."

"And you just had to show them that you weren't didn't you?"

"Yeah. I wanted to," Auggie stated with conviction. He _had_ very much wanted to prove to his brothers that he wasn't fragile and helpless. All that he had done was prove to himself that maybe they were right – he wasn't as independent as he liked to think. The Sox weren't the only ones that had lost that day.

"You got to the Customer Relations Booth on sheer dumb luck didn't you?"

"No. I got there by using my new found skills," Auggie stated evenly. Olivia was going somewhere with this conversation. He just wasn't sure he wanted to go there with her.

"August David Anderson, don't lie to me," Olivia said with her best 'don't BS momma' tone. "You can tell me, Auggie. I understand, more than you may think, just how difficult all of this is for you."

"How could you possibly know what I'm going through?" Auggie said with resentment. _How dare she presume to understand what life was like for him now._

"Sit back, Auggie. Let me tell you a little story," Olivia said gently. "Back in Little Rock, when I was in my early teens, my best friend was a bright, vivacious girl named Emily. One fall, just after school had started back, her parents took us to the high school football game. On the way home, a drunk driver smashed into us. We were all pretty badly hurt, but Emily was injured the worst; the other car crashed into our vehicle right where she was sitting. She had a very bad head injury and was in a coma for a while. When she finally came out of it she was blind. She had some other problems, but the biggest – and the one that wouldn't get better with therapy – was her sight.

"I've kept in touch with her all these years. We don't see each other in person as often as we'd like, but we talk on the phone, even E-mail each other, and she's on Facebook and Twitter, too.

"Even though we weren't adults when she was blinded, I remember her struggles. You don't know how little girls are, but they love to talk and share deep, dark secrets. She told me everything – how scared she was, how worthless she sometimes felt, about the little things that she would accomplish that would bolster her confidence, and the things that could leave her in a total panic. It took her years to really become comfortable with being blind. I doubt that in the short amount of time that you've been without your sight, you've truly become adept in and adapted to this world you now find yourself in."

Auggie nodded his head at her last statement. Even though almost five months felt like an eternity to him at times, it really wasn't long enough for him to become truly adapted to his darkness. He'd often wondered if he would ever be really comfortable with his perpetual moonless night.

"As soon as I heard what had happened to my favorite brother-in-law, I called Emily. We relived our friendship, and her early struggles. Even if you confide in them Auggie, none of your brothers will ever understand just how hard some things are for you now, but I understand better than even Austin and Alan. I've already been through this with someone else that I love. I'm just sorry that you chose not to let us in on your struggle earlier."

Auggie searched for her hand on the swing's seat and when he found it, with her subtle help he thought, he firmly squeezed it. He wanted to give her a peck on the cheek, but thought better of it. Even with her story fresh in his mind, Auggie hesitated and considered his next words carefully. Finally he spoke, "Yeah, you're right. I did arrive at the booth by pure dumb luck. If one of the people behind the counter hadn't spoken to me, I was just about ready to panic. I had no idea where I was.

"Every day, it seems, there is something that comes along to shake my carefully constructed facade. Yesterday it was – well you know what it was yesterday – this morning it was a bad dream. It left me feeling helpless. And now, with all of the kids running around, and all of the conversations, I'm feeling just a bit overwhelmed. I'm afraid that I'm going to run into one of the kid's toys, one of the littler kids, or trip over someone's feet." The admission of his perceived inadequacy did not come easily.

"Stick with me, Auggie. I'll take care of you this afternoon."

"You know how to be a sighted guide?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm a very good sighted guide. I know about canes, and how to tell you where things are by the clock face method. I know a lot of things about – how did Marissa put it that day? Oh yeah – the care and feeding of a blind person."

"Then why …? Auggie was confused; if she knew all these things then why hadn't she been the one to take charge of him when they'd come to visit him at the rehab center. He'd only begun to question her when she cut him short.

"Adam was feeling so helpless about what had just happened to his baby brother, I just stood back and let him take control. It wasn't until later that it dawned on him that of the four of us, I was probably the one best to have assisted you that day." She gave him a quick jab in the side with her elbow, "And I didn't know if a big macho man like yourself would take too kindly to being led by little ol' me."

"You're a very pretty lady, Livie. I wouldn't have minded at all. But Adam did a good job of it. He didn't let me run into anything, or trip over something, so it was good."

"Speaking of canes, why aren't you using yours today? It might help with not running into a misplaced toy."

"It never crossed my mind to be truthful. I'm so familiar with the house and yard it just didn't seem to be necessary." He lowered his voice to just above a whisper, "It upsets Mom to see me with it, too."

"That's a stupid reason not to use it. Yeah, she is having a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact that you'll never see again."

"I thought so. When I got here Friday, I wanted to take a walk around the neighborhood after supper. When I came down the stairs with my cane, she started to cry. She tried to cover it up, but I could tell. And the same thing happened last evening when I needed to walk off some of the frustration I felt about the incident at the game."

Olivia touched his hand. "You know, when she first learned about what had happened she wanted to yank you out of the rehab center and bring you back here. Your dad wouldn't allow it. He had confidence in your ability to adapt."

"He did?" Auggie was surprised at that. As the youngest he'd often felt as if his parents had sheltered him, didn't have confidence in his judgment. He had wondered at his parent's actions that weekend. He had expected more protectiveness from his mother and when she had only expressed hope for his future he had been confused. Pleased, but confused. This tidbit of information clarified many things in his thoughts.

"Yes, he did. Does," she said reassuringly. "Looks like the food is ready. Shall we head that way?" Olivia said as she rose from her seat. As Auggie rose beside her, she brushed the back of his hand with hers.

Auggie paused for a moment, considering his options, then lightly grasped Olivia's arm. "Who brought what for the potluck today?" he whispered conspiratorially.

"Let's see. I brought the potato salad and baked beans; Jenna brought a vegetable and relish tray; Jessica made some sort of layered taco dip for the chips, and you know that Alan did his deviled eggs. My Alexis made some chocolate chip cookies, and Tony's Katie did a melon medley with three different kinds of melon and some grapes. You know what the meats are?"

"Yeah. Dad's grilling some steaks, hamburgers, hot dogs, and brats that mom boiled in my beer this morning." The house had smelled like a brewery for a while as the brats boiled for a bit while he'd shown his mother his kitchen skills by slicing the green peppers and onions without taking off a finger. He'd even sautéed them up in olive oil.

"What would you like on your plate?" Olivia asked as she placed Auggie's hand on the back of one of the wrought aluminum patio chairs. If anyone other than Olivia had asked what he wanted to eat he might have taken offense. Or even if she'd asked before he knew about her friend Emily. But, now, it was okay that she'd asked. She was just being Olivia. She wasn't trying to 'baby' him. And he figured that she never would.

"Oh, decisions, decisions," Auggie playfully lamented. "A bit of potato salad, baked beans, a deviled egg, and a brat with the sautéed peppers and onions, with a squirt of mustard. Regular yellow mustard, not that Dijon stuff."

Olivia left his side as he sat and pulled himself up to the table. A few minutes later she was back and he heard the sound of one of his mother's Corel plates being set down on the glass tabletop of the patio table. Olivia whispered the location of the items on it to Auggie before she left again. Momentarily he heard the sound of a glass bottle being set before him and then the clatter of flatware on the table, too. The voice of Adam's first born, Cody, whispered that there was a bottle of Miller Lite at his one o'clock, and napkin and flatware to the right side of his plate.

"Thanks, Cody. Has your mom been coaching you?" Auggie asked, puzzled at the fourteen-year-old's knowledge.

"In a way. Alexis and I went with her and dad to Hines a few times to meet with the people there so that we'd know how to behave around you when you were here this weekend. I'm sorry that the bomb took your sight, Uncle Auggie. But I'm glad that it didn't take you away." The young man wrapped his arms around his uncle's shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. "I'm going to go get me something to eat now."

"I'm back, Auggie," Olivia said as she settled into the seat to his right a few minutes after her son had left.

"I'm here, too," Adam said as he sat on his other side.

"Don't expect me to talk to you, Adam. I'm not sure that I've gotten over your comment at the ballgame yet," Auggie said after he'd swallowed a bit of potato salad.

"How many times to I have to apologize for that open mouth insert foot comment?"

"I don't know," Auggie said while trying to stifle a chuckle. His big brother sounded so pathetic. Auggie enjoyed making his brother squirm a bit. He'd forgiven his brother before they'd even left the ballgame. But he wasn't about to let him off the hook quite yet.

"Auggie, I'm not going to grovel, but …"

"It's okay, Adam. I know that you just wanted to protect me. I just don't want or need to be protected from the rest of the world; just from myself sometimes. By thinking that you needed to protect me, you inadvertently drove me into the very thing that you wanted to protect me from. I think that seeing me disoriented and somewhat," he took a swig of his beer before he could force the next word from his mouth, "helpless was punishment enough. Consider the incident behind us."

"Thanks, Auggie."

A few more minutes into his meal Auggie leaned toward Olivia, "I'm being watched aren't I?" There was more sadness in his voice than bitterness.

"Yup. How did you know?" Olivia replied.

"Just a feeling I get sometimes. Who's the worst offender today? Jessica? Or one of the kids? Kids I don't mind, but adults should know better," his tone exuded resignation.

"How did you know that it was Jessica?" Adam asked curiously.

"She's the only one that I haven't spent any time around since I got back here to Glencoe. You and Livie have spent time with me and Livie has her friend Emily; Alan's seen me at my worst and Austin's spent extensive time with me. That leaves Tony and Jessica. Tony could care less about the way I manage things now, so, by process of elimination, that leaves Jessica."

"Ah, you've still got it upstairs," Adam said as he poked Auggie on the side of his head.

"Yeah, the computer geek is still in there," Auggie said as he turned his attention back to his meal. He didn't like being watched, but he knew that it was now part of the territory in which he resided. If he'd known where Jessica was seated he thought about raising 'the finger' towards her, but resisted the urge.

After he'd eaten his fill of the things on his plate and finish his beer, Alexis brought him a bowl of the melon medley and a couple of her cookies. As he was munching on his last cookie, Auggie was aware of someone occupying the seat that Olivia had vacated moments before.

"Hello, Jessica," Auggie said without turning his head toward her.

"How did you know who I was?" Jessica asked with surprise.

"My spidey senses told me," he replied evenly. He wasn't about to tell her that the overpowering scent of her perfume gave her away. Her signature perfume might have cost a small fortune, but it had never appealed to Auggie.

"Just wanted to let you know how sorry I am about what happened to you. You seem to be handling it well." For the one of the few times since he'd been blinded Auggie heard pity in a voice.

"Thank you, Jess, but I don't want your pity. I had two choices in dealing with becoming blind. I could have crawled off into a corner and hid, or I could learn to live with the hand that I got dealt. I'm not hiding. You should know how well I'm handling things, since you've been watching my every move since you got here." Insolence laced his tone, and he didn't care if he offended her. She never had been one of his favorite people. Olivia had called her an 'Ice Queen' soon after Tony had brought her home to meet the family for the first time. She was beautiful by anyone's standards and she knew it. Her parents were in the upper level of the Glencoe social circle and she seemed to think that she was so much better than most people. Truth be told, and he never advertised it, Alfred Anderson was wealthier than Jessica's family by a good bit. Alfred had always told his children that it was more important for them to make their way in the world than in the world making a way for them.

"How do you know that I've been observing you? Did Olivia or Adam tell you?"

"No, they only confirmed what I'd already surmised. I hope that I didn't disappoint you too much by not blundering into things and spilling most of my meal on my lap."

"Yes, Auggie, I expected to see you being led around by the hand and being fed like you were helpless." This time Jessica's tone was dripping with sarcasm. Without missing a beat she continued in a normal tone, "I admire your ability to bounce back from what happened to you. I'm not sure I could deal with becoming blind like you have. I've tried, and so has Tony, walking through the house with the lights out, and trying to eat a meal with our eyes closed. We did not do well; I had a couple of big bruises on my legs and Tony almost fell down the stairs. He was impressed with the way that you took off on your own yesterday."

"Wasn't trying to impress anyone. Just wanted to get away from people who didn't want me to be where I was." The knowledge that his irresponsible action yesterday had impressed his brother surprised him. He didn't think he could do anything that would ever make an impact on his older brother. Tony certainly hadn't behaved any differently towards him when he'd returned to his seat.

"Mom says that you're going to go back to work next week?"

"Yeah, I was sort of surprised when they wanted me back. It'll feel good to be back at work."

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We've met the last two adults in Auggie's family. What do you think of Olivia aka Livie and Jessica?


	17. A New Beginning

The last chapter. Auggie's made it back to work at the DPD. I hope that you've enjoyed Auggie's journey as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: Don't own Auggie, just my characters.

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Chapter Seventeen – A New Beginning

Auggie reached over onto his nightstand and located his alarm clock. His fingers quickly located the speak button and pressed it. The mechanical voice intoned, "4:47 AM." He groaned loudly. It was the third time he'd woken this night—more like early morning. He was more nervous about what was going to happen later in the day than he'd thought. At 9:00 AM he had an appointment with Joan. But first he had to go to Human Resources and get vetted once again. Today was going to be his first day back at work. He guessed that the part of him that was scared to death was overwhelming the part that was eager to get back to something productive in his life. He'd spoken to Joan several times in the little over a week he'd been back from Glencoe.

He was coming back at a slightly higher pay grade and at the same security level as when he'd left a bit over ten months ago. He knew his security clearance would be subject to a higher level if warranted. And, in the most general of terms, they'd discussed his new duties and responsibilities. He was now considered 'management' and had people working for him, not with him. Joan was still his boss, though.

Three hours to D-hour. Two hours until he had to leave for Langley. Before he might have - weather permitting - gotten ready and rode his Harley around for a while before heading in to work. Today – today he had a car service scheduled to pick him up at 6:45 AM. It didn't take two hours to shower, dress and go to the café for a bite of breakfast. Even though he'd probably not eat, his stomach had butterflies the size of eagles flittering in it. And trying to fall back to sleep was no longer an option.

He rose and straightened up his bed a bit before heading into the bath. A quick shower and shave calmed his nerves a bit. Routine was good for that. On one of her home visits, Jane had assisted him in identifying and discreetly tagging his clothes. Last evening he'd gone through suits, ties and dress shirts and put together what he hoped was a dashing combination – dark grey suit, white shirt and dark purple and lavender striped tie. He dressed slowly – deliberately prolonging the time it took. From long habit, tie in hand, he moved to stand before the full-length mirror on the wall at the end of his closet. After flipping his collar up, he placed the tie around his neck. As many times as he'd tied a tie, today the motions were not producing the desired results. In frustration he yanked the tie from around his neck and began again. This time he closed his eyes and let the picture in his mind's eye guide his hands. Success. He snugged up the knot and then put his collar back down. Checking his watch he sighed – still more than an hour before the car would be by to pick him up.

Grabbing up his apartment key and cane from their resting place on the end of the kitchen island, he headed out the door. A few minutes later he was sitting in his usual booth in the local diner. He ordered coffee and dry wheat toast. That was about all he thought that he could stomach this morning.

##########

Promptly at 9:00 he sat in Joan's office, new security badge firmly clipped to the right front pocket of his dress slacks. His meeting with HR had gone quickly and smoothly. Even the mandatory polygraph session had gone well. He was back in. Not that, he'd found out, he'd ever been out, only listed as out on medical leave.

"For the first few days we're going to ease you back into the fold. Well, I don't know if ease is the right term, there's a file to the left of the keyboard on your desk with a Syrian code we've been trying to break for the last few weeks. We're hoping that a fresh set of eyes on it – sorry about that phrasing – "

"It's okay, Joan. See; saw; look; eyes those kinds of words and phrases are still in my vocabulary, too. I just have a different take on them these days. They are going to come up in normal conversation. It's much more awkward if everyone has to watch what they say around me for fear of offending me. I haven't gotten this far by being thin skinned." He gave Joan a gracious smile. He hoped that it put her at ease. "And in what form are the notes in that file on my desk?"

"Braille. Contracted Braille – whatever that is. We've gotten a lot of new toys in preparation for your return. Some of them are very expensive toys. But the hit to the budget is so worth it to have you back. You've been missed."

He heard the dismissal in her tone and rose to leave. Soon he was tapping his way across the catwalk, down the stairs and across the bullpen to his new space. He heard the sounds in the workspace below him quiet as soon as he started down the stairs. Not for the first time since he'd lost his sight he felt self-conscious. He had accepted that he would be the object of scrutiny when he returned, but it still bothered him. Halfway down the stairs he had the urge to make a witty comment, but none immediately came to him. Instead he mentally squared his shoulders and proceeded to his workspace with as much dignity as he could manage with the sudden quaking in his soul.

"Good morning, Mr. Anderson," someone said as he stepped through the door into the workspace he now shared with two other Tech Ops techs and their support person. He recognized the voice from when he and Marissa had been here a few weeks ago. He could not recall a name.

"Good morning," Auggie let the inflection in his voice indicate a question.

"Oh, sorry, I'm Stu."

"Good morning, Stu. It will take me a bit to associate your voice with a name. Are you the only one here now?"

"Yeah. Eric's coming in later today since he was here into the wee hours of the morning. And Shari should be back shortly. She went on a coffee run. Careful, that's where the cables run across the room."

Auggie adjusted his stride a bit and safely made it across the minor obstacle. It would probably take him a day or two to learn how many paces into the room it was. "Thanks. It will take me a day or two to learn where they are, but then, unless they sprout legs and move, I should be okay with them then."

Auggie's cane struck something metallic in about the spot that he remembered his desk should be. He felt for the object and was rewarded with the edge of a desk. A quick search to his right located a chair. He sat and folded his cane and laid it on the desk top to his right. He located the headphones that were, when he was here a few weeks ago, to the right of the keyboard and positioned them around his neck. With his left hand he reached out and located the computer tower and located the 'ON' button. Several minutes later, through his headphones he heard the computer voice indicate he was at the home screen a few minutes later. A few keystrokes and he was at the security login. He keyed in the password that Joan had given him just a few minutes before. Slowly he became aware that there were no sounds coming from Stu's work area. He hadn't heard the door into the work space open or close so Stu must still be in the room. Probably watching him.

"Stu, are you watching me?" he asked with more curiosity than irritation.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I was just curious about how the software and the thing hooked to your keyboard worked. I hooked it up and all of that, but I never had a chance to see how it all worked. And, I've never been around anyone who couldn't see."

There was an innocent honesty in Stu's words and tone. Auggie could find nothing in them to feel upset over. The door into the room opened and the smell of coffee wafted on the air currents.

"That must be Shari back with the coffee," Auggie announced.

"Yes, Mr. Anderson. It is," Shari said as she came closer to him. "Stu and I chipped in on what we hope is your favorite Starbucks coffee. Umm, how do I let you know where it is on your desk?"

"Stu. Shari. Pull up chairs and we'll have a quick get to know the blind guy session." He waited a few moments until he heard chairs being pulled up closer.

"First of all, please call me Auggie. Mr. Anderson is my father and even he prefers to be called Fred. Second, I'm blind. Blind is not a 'naughty word'. It's what I am. I'm blind ever since an unfortunate encounter with an IED in Iraq. You can use the words 'look' and 'see' and any other similar word around me. I use those words, too. They just mean something different to me now. Oh, if you want me to 'look' at something you'd best be prepared to place it in my hands or to describe it to me in detail.

"Shari, you asked how to tell me where things are. Set my coffee – and thank you very much for that – where you would if it were Stu here." He heard her set the cup down. Slowly he snaked his left hand out and quickly located the warm cup. "That was about my 10 o'clock. Anything right in front of me is either 12 or 6 o'clock – 12 is farther away than 6. Just like the face of a clock. To my right is 1-5 and to my left is 11-7. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Stu and Shari replied in unison.

"Good. There is one other very important thing to remember. Don't leave anything in the path between my desk and the door—chairs, skateboards, that sort of thing. My shins would appreciate not slamming into them. For a few days I will be moving around this space tentatively. I may even blunder into desks, chairs and work tables. But, before too long, I will learn where things are in here and then I will move about freely and you may even begin to forget that I'm not able to see." He grinned softly. "Stu wants to know how my 'toys' work. Shari, would you like to know, too?"

"Yeah, I would."

For the next few minutes Auggie explained how his software and special hardware worked. He even let them have a turn at using them. Then he dismissed them and opened the folder that Joan had left for him. He eagerly got to work on the Syrian Code.

It took him a good two hours to carefully read through the material that he'd been given. He still did not read Braille as efficiently as he once had print, but he no longer stumbled over the symbols. He'd started to go over the code for the second time when an idea began to form in the back of his mind. _It couldn't be that simple, could it?_

"Stu, what do we know about that Syrian cell?" He said over his shoulder in Stu's general direction.

"It should be in the file," Stu replied.

"All I got was a broad overview. I need the nitty-gritty details. Specifically, do we know if anyone in the cell was educated here in the States and is blind?"

"I don't know. Want me to go find out from Joan?"

"Not necessarily. Can you tell if she's in her office? Or in the bullpen somewhere?"

"She's in the bullpen talking to the officer who got the code in the first place."

"What's the officer's name?"

"Chet. Chet Woodson. His workspace is on the far side of the room and the third from this end."

The name of the officer did not ring any bells for Auggie. He may have seen him around the office at some point, but he could no longer know anyone from their appearance. Auggie rose and crossed to the door. Then out into the bullpen. Despite the urge to rush out to where Joan was, he moved slowly, deliberately, cane sweeping slowly before him.

"What's up, Auggie?" Joan asked as he got near to where he thought she'd be.

"What more can you tell me about the Syrian cell? Chet? Auggie Anderson, who may have just cracked your code." Auggie stuck out his hand in the direction he hoped that Chet was seated. A firm hand took his and pumped it a few times.

"I know who you are. Welcome back. What more do you need to know? I thought that I'd put everything pertinent in the summary that I had printed out for you," Chet said a bit defensively.

"It was a very good overview of the situation. No problems with what you gave me, but I could use more information about the cell members. Are any of them blind and American educated?"

"Yeah. The second in command lost his sight in an attack when he was very young. And he's Harvard educated. What's that got to do with deciphering their code?"

"Auggie? Is that important?" Joan asked.

"I've got to do a bit more studying, but that tidbit of information might just be the clue to breaking that code." Auggie turned to head back to his desk.

"Auggie, let's go have some lunch," Joan said authoritatively. "The code can wait for a bit."

"Yeah. Sure," Auggie said distractedly. His mind was already working on the code. Joan seemed to brush the back of his hand with her's deliberately. He tentatively took her arm. She did not flinch or shrink from his hand clutching her elbow.

"I did that right?"

"You mean touching my hand as an indication you were willing to be my guide?"

"Yes. Since there was a 'situation' the day that you and Marissa came to get the feel for the building again and I didn't really get a chance to talk with her, I called her a few days ago to see what tips she had for making you more comfortable here. That was one, the clock face stuff was another and just generally keeping stuff in the same place or letting you know if something's been moved and where to. Stuff like that. We had a staff meeting Friday afternoon. "

"So, the get-to-know-the-blind-guy session that I had this morning with Stu and Shari wasn't necessary?" He laughed quietly.

"No. Eric attended, but Stu was handling an officer out of country, and Shari wasn't here. So it wasn't wasted time by any means."

Eventually they snaked their way through the cafeteria line. Both selected – well, Auggie told Joan what he'd like for lunch and she'd placed one on his tray – chef salads.

Once their immediate appetites had been satisfied, Joan set her fork down and asked, "Auggie, how were you so easily able to come up with a solution to that code? Our best analysts came up blank on it."

Auggie finished chewing and swallowing his last bite before answering. "I'm not sure that I have solved it. But," he paused for a moment considering how to explain his thoughts, "I think it might be a numeric code based on the Braille alphabet. I noticed that there were only numbers 1-6 and 0, but no 7-9. I may be wrong, but it seemed like a possibility. More so once Chet told me that someone in the cell was blind and educated here in the States. Percentage wise there's not a lot of people in the world who know Braille, and I may be the only one in intelligence circles who does. It would be a good way to make the messages harder to decipher."

"Ah. I see. I knew that there was a good reason that you'd be an asset to us." He heard the pleasure in her voice. "Just didn't know that it would show itself on your first day back. Good job, Auggie. Good job."

"Now Joan, don't be patting me on the back quite yet. Right now it's just a theory. And even if it is I don't know if it's based on the English alphabet, Arabic, or some other language. Right now I only know English, math and computer Braille. If it's in Arabic it will take a bit for me to find the Braille code for Arabic and translate it," Auggie said cautiously. His confidence was waning at the thought that it could be in Arabic and what if another coding twist had been added, too.

"Your educated guess is closer than we've been in days. I have confidence in you. Now, let's finish our lunches so we can get back to work."

Later in the afternoon, Auggie cautiously walked toward Chet's desk with a print copy of the translated code in a folder. He had been lucky; the message had been in English and was based on the Braille cell. It took him very little time to translate the communiqué into a form that could be read by anyone.

"Joan," he said as he passed by where she was standing talking with another officer, "may I have a minute with you and Chet?" A self-satisfied smirk graced his features.

"Yes, Auggie. What is it?" She paused for a moment apparently reading his face and posture. "You've cracked the code!" she exclaimed. "Good for you. I knew that you would get it. Chet's left for the day. Come let's go back to your office and you can tell me all about it."

Back in his workspace, Auggie quickly put on his headphones and began keying in commands to the computer. He googled 'Braille Code'. From the results screen he selected and brought up the American Foundation for the Blind website's "Deciphering the Code" page. He used the visuals there to help Joan understand the basics of the Braille Cell and how it was used to form letters, numbers, and a bit about Grade 2 contractions. When she indicated that she understood, he went on to explain how he'd translated the message.

When he had finished, Joan patted him on the shoulder. "Do we need to teach Braille to our analysts now, too?"

Auggie smiled broadly. "It wouldn't hurt. I'll give you a source for materials for some of the analysts to educate themselves."

As Auggie rode home in the back of the car service vehicle, he felt, he almost hated to admit, content. He had been so nervous in the morning, and his first day back at work could not have gone better. His fears of appearing inept and bumbling had been unfounded. For a moment he thought that Joan had deliberately orchestrated the code to be in Braille so that he could have a success early on. He quickly dismissed that notion. He didn't really think that Joan would waste company time and resources like that. When he'd first begun his career in the CIA, he had thought that she was a cold and calculating bitch. She had turned out to be one of the few people whose advice and guidance he'd sought out. She had had confidence in him back then, and she had it now. He would try not to disappoint her.

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Please let me know how you liked this last chapter and the whole story in general if you've not posted a comment before. It's been a journey for me, too. I've mostly enjoyed taking you on Auggie's journey.


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